


Clipped

by ALOrated



Series: Hamilton Clipped AU [1]
Category: Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: Angst, Blood, Clipping, Death, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Execution, Explicit Language, F/M, Fluff, Gangs, Homophobia, Human Trafficking, Kidnapping, M/M, Murder, Mutilation, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Prosthetics, Racism, Rebellion, Revolution, Severe Injury, Slavery, Slow Burn, Torture, Trauma, Wings, clipped wings, flight, gunfights
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-12-09
Updated: 2019-01-02
Packaged: 2019-02-12 15:11:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 9
Words: 48,361
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12962142
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ALOrated/pseuds/ALOrated
Summary: New York City is a hotspot for the unlucky victims of "human" trafficking – not that they're considered real people, of course. Uptown is the home of the privileged, the human, taking clear advantage of cheap labor and the unwilling. Living downtown? Some were born in the city, having lived there all their lives, never knowing anything better than mistreatment. Others were gagged and shackled, stolen from their old lives and forced into new identities.Alexander never expected his rough, but familiar life in Nevis would be ripped away. Certainly wouldn't have guessed he'd end up in the clutches of Thomas Jefferson, a human. Never would have thought he'd be involved in a conspiracy that would turn their whole world upside down.Oppression can only last so long, and the population is restless.Rebellion is brewing, stirred by a revolutionary gang.And most importantly, Alexander Hamilton will never throw away his shot.





	1. Processing

Lafayette had received the slip from Hercules. The passing of the torn paper was simple, and the cover story convenient.

As far as anyone was concerned, Lafayette stopped by the tailor’s shop so that his favorite jacket, a dark blue uniform made to fit his shoulders perfectly, could be repaired. He knew just who to go to, just the right one to fix his jacket just right.

As far as anyone knew, it had been ripped by accident when a seam caught on an exposed nail in a rickety table.

However, it was only Lafayette who knew of the tiny note tucked within the false pocket, set in place by Hercules. And so, he made polite small talk as he usually did, thanked Hercules for mending his poor jacket, swiped his wrist over the scanner to pay, and was gone without the thought of a glance over his shoulder.

In the safety of his home, he had peeled apart the tiniest hole in the stitching, slipped the rolled-up stripped out of the fabric and into his palm. Now, the little scroll was tenderly unrolled, and Lafayette went to sit at his desk, hunching over to read the fine printed writing. The curve of the letters, the spacing, were all perfectly indicative of Washington. It was familiar – not merely the style, but the very _situation_ , a world he had lived time and time again.

George Washington, council member of the city. A leader, one to inspire.

“ _Lafayette, John sent word that he was able to duplicate more blueprints. He was provided a pass that might allow him to travel into our side of the city, but he must be in and out quickly. Meet him at the usual night trade point, but do not allow him to be caught out after curfew."_

Lafayette sat in his office, a room hardly larger than a closet tucked into the corner of his home. He sat there alone – there was no one else to watch him drop the slip into a paper shredder, torn to incomprehensible shreds, tracks covered. Any message sent between computers could be tracked, but physical evidence could be destroyed. And with that, Lafayette rose to his feet, tugging on his jacket.

It was the blue one, of course.

Once he stepped onto the dark pavement, the orange lighting of old street lamps bled into the cool colorations, warped them. The skies were dark, and he picked up his pace, feet thudding on the sidewalk. It had taken longer than he had expected to arrive home and check the slip; he would have merely gotten the word from Hercules, but it had been unusually busy that day, meaning they never had a truly alone moment to discuss. John had to abide by a curfew, and even while Lafayette didn’t, walking alone too late at night would attract unwanted attention. While he would not be arrested or accused merely for being out, especially if he could formulate an excuse, it was quiet now, empty, something so unusual for a city. He had to be careful.

This was uptown New York.

He turned, slipping between two buildings. The street before him was wider, but usually empty, especially at such an hour.

The sliver of light marking the end of the alleyway was marred by a silhouette, bleeding into formation.

“Laurens, mon ami,” Lafayette breathed, recognizing the distinctive bob of curly hair, the slope of the other’s shoulders. His voice hardly above a whisper, French accent twisting into his words, he asked, “As-tu quelque chose pour moi? Do you have something for me?”

John was dressed in his work clothes, dark grey, long sleeves rolled up. He clutched a satchel, the strap slung over one shoulder, and nodded.

“Qu'est-ce que c'est?” Washington had mentioned blueprints.

John’s hands reached for the satchel, flipped open the top cover of the bag. Inside was a slim tablet, a light coat. Clearly, John had been working late that day, hadn’t had the opportunity to stop by his assigned housing before stopping by. “More duplications. I was able to swipe one of them to copy, and the others I sketched myself. The files are right here.” Lafayette put his hand out, taking the slim stick. A drive.

“Perfect, John. That is all, oui?”

He noticed the way John shifted on his feet, and the other finally sighed. “There’s been talk, around work. A new ship’s coming in, bringing from the coast. All the way from the Caribbean to not too far south of us here.”

Lafayette nodded, understanding. “I’ll look over those who are brought in. If they’re not taken away for auction, I will be able to send many into the education sector, where they will be most of use, now. Where I might be able to work with them, formulate excuses for their actions.” While he himself worked in education, he rarely receive notifications of a ship until only a short time before the scheduled arrival.

John glanced down to his wrist, frowning at his armband, checking the time. “It’s almost curfew. I need to go.” He tipped his head to the side, listening for soldiers on the streets out to patrol.

“Alright. Be careful, and make haste. Do not allow yourself to be captured...even with the pass from Washington that got you up here, you can’t be seen on the streets if it’s too late at night.”

“I won’t.” He moved, turned to stand facing the street. Despite the low light, Lafayette could clearly discern the little red feathers at the bases of Lauren’s wings. Deep grey and white, bands, stripes, dots.

He’d always thought they looked like a target, Lauren’s life being a bull’s-eye.

A metallic apparatus gleamed at the base joints. Wing-bands, made to stop an ezfi, a _winged_ , from flapping. Of course, he had made sure it was broken and inactive long ago. It would raise questions to see an ezfi without them, but no one would tell from a distance that the internal mechanisms were destroyed.

John’s footsteps thumped hard on the pavement, and once clear of the alleyway, he spread his wings to their full span. He flapped, air whistling as it ran over his wings, and in a few moments he was in the air.

Lafayette was a human, privileged, content. But there were times he envied those who were ezfi.

He really shouldn’t.

* * *

Alexander raised a hand to his cheek, fingers gently running over the marred surface. He winced, pulling away, but even in the low half-light, he saw his hand was dry. That was good; it meant the larger cut had finally stopped bleeding, although the skin around it was still probably smeared red. He was lucky that it wasn’t deep, but it was ragged and painful, pink with inflammation.

Footsteps sounded out from his left. The noise bounced along the walls, seeming to reverberate in his cell – the concrete didn’t do much to dampen the activities of workers buzzing through the room. Every now and then, they’d walk through, and he’d be certain that it was his turn to be taken, but each time, he was passed over without a second glance. Another faceless shadow was cast across his cell as the latest employee moved by, and after a long minute, they came back in the opposite direction, this time leading another ezfi along.

 _Ezfi_. That was why he was thrown into a cell, covered in cuts and bruises. It was because he was born an ezfi – smaller, and weaker than the average human in most ways. Bones that were hollow, easy to snap. Genetically modified so many years ago, spread out through the wildlands.

And wings, coming in every color imaginable. Large and strong enough to fly, under normal circumstances. Of course, the tight, pinching bands wrapped around the base of each wing, connected with some thick, square device rendered him grounded. An ezfi could only run so hard, so fast, but if they were downed, unable to fly? They were as good as dead, left to the whims of their captors.

His clothing was a mess. He hadn’t had the opportunity to clean up since his capture, and was still wearing his old clothes. They were ripped in places, and mud splatters were clearly visible. Minimalistic, for the conditions; they weren’t made for cooler weather in the slightest, and Alexander couldn’t help but shiver in his cell. The cinder blocks and concrete seemed to suck all the heat away from him, and Nevis was so warm, so unlike this new world.

His head jerked up when a soft trill sounded and a shadow fell over his form. The light wasn’t strong enough for hard edges, but there was no illumination in his cage, the only light originating from outside in the walkway. After a few moments, the door slid open on a track, and he withdrew at the metallic screeching. Unsure exactly what to expect, he coiled backwards, wings scraping the concrete behind him.

A human was silhouetted against the light, towering over him. “Get up. You’re going to processing.” When Alexander made no motion to stand, the human snapped his hand forward, grabbing Alexander’s wrist and yanking him to his feet and pulling him out of his cell. Without the use of his wings for balance, he stumbled forwards, hardly able to steady himself.

“Gah-!”

But, for the first time since his arrival, he was able to see outside of his prison. Most of the cell doors were closed, only a small window allowing view to the outside. Those that were open revealed a bare cage, shallow, just enough to force an ezfi into. The human’s grip on his wrist tightened slightly, fingernails digging into skin as he pulled, finally pushing Alexander in front of him. “Test Room 1 is the first on the right.” After a pause, he muttered under his breath, “I can’t believe I’m doing this...this _menial labor_ , if those dumb ezfis had thought to tell us they wouldn’t be showing up today...when they get back, they are _fired_.”

The room the human referred to was only marked with a small “1” that was printed on a plate. He swiped his right arm over the handle, a thick black band around his wrist blinking green before he opened the door, shoving Alexander inside. Inside was a little space, the walls blank and uninviting, just enough space for a desk and chairs. On one side, an ezfi a bit smaller than Alexander was hunched over the desk; it didn’t appear that he’d even noticed anyone else in the room with him.

“Burr!”

The ezfi – Burr, his name must have been – jumped up, staring over at them with wide eyes. “Yes, Mr. Reynolds, sir?” It was after another moment that he noticed Alexander, giving a quiet “oh” and nodding to the opposing chair. “Sit down, here.”

Alexander contemplated instead kicking it over, but he wasn’t quite sure that was the best idea. As he stepped forward, the door behind him slammed shut, clicking as it was automatically relocked, and he reluctantly made his way over to the desk. After a moment’s thought, he decided to straighten up and stand behind the chair instead. His fingers digged into the plastic to stop himself from shaking.

Everyone here seemed awfully calm about the fact that he was here because he was _kidnapped_ from his homeland.

Burr appeared unamused, pointing to the chair. “Sit down, or I’m calling security. You’re not on the records yet, meaning you _can_ and _will_ be shot dead.”

Needless to say, that got Alexander sitting down fast. The ezfi wrinkled his nose when he noticed the muck on Alexander’s t-shirt, but chose not to comment on it.

Burr looked down at the table. From the doorway, Alexander had figured the desk was merely made of wood, as they usually were. At least, they were in the Caribbean, before the humans had…he shook away the thought, his cuts and bruises already a reminder in themselves. He noticed Burr tapping on the desk, realizing that while it was smooth and polished, the center of either side was a rectangular sheet of glass. While his side was dark and black, turned off, Burr’s was lit up and white as he typed something into the computer.

He took a moment to examine the ezfi. Sitting down, it was easier to gauge the other ezfi’s size, and his earlier assumption appeared correct – he had at least an inch on the other. Not much of a difference in size, but it was there.

If it came to it, he could probably tackle Burr, scramble past him, but with the door locked...

What caught Alexander’s attention next, however, was the black band the ezfi wore around his right wrist. He had noticed the human, Reynolds, wearing one as well, although he wasn’t sure what purpose it served. It seemed minimalistic, a screen, a button or two, and a place where he was fairly sure a light would blink on at. The best he could discern was that it was likely something tied to its user, possibly for transactions, or something of the sort.

What he noticed most was the ezfi’s wings. Alexander was from the Caribbean, where most ezfis had bright wings, usually blues and greens. But, this ezfi’s wings were a pitch black he’d never before seen in feathers. The last outer row of feathers, primaries, secondaries, in a stark contrast, were pure white.

After a long minute, Burr stopped his typing, tapped something on the screen, and folded his arms. He looked up at Alexander, face neutral and blank. “I am testing associate Aaron Burr. I’ll be in charge of gathering your basic files – after we’re done here, I’ll take you to the medical workers for a physical examination for your records. Everything beyond that point will be out of my hands.”

“You’re talking off a script,” Alexander muttered. “At least speak to me like another ezfi. Who was, you know, _kidnapped!_ ” A tear pricked at one eye; he rubbed it out of existence. The longer he stayed angry, the longer it would take to break down.

Burr slid his pointer finger along the glass, not bothering to meet Alexander’s eyes. “I read the same script as what I use on everyone else. Don’t go believing you’re anything special, because you’re not.”

Alexander slammed his hands down on the table. “Excuse me!? I’m not trying to say I’m important but I’m not going to just sit here and listen to you drone on about–”

“Stop,” Burr cut his speech off. “If you want me to not recite a script, then take a little advice. Talk less...keep yourself out of trouble. And smile more. It keeps the self-entitled off your back, and will get you places faster than you might think. Opinionation is not something you can afford here.” He tapped twice, and Alexander could see a digital records form appearing on his screen. “Now, I will need some information from you...what you can provide now will be useful.”

Outburst silenced, Alexander clenched his teeth and looked down, only to see the screen flash to life. It must have been mirroring Burr’s screen, as it scrolled to the first entry table as Burr slid a finger along the surface of his own side’s glass. “Fill out what you’re capable of. The section marked “medical” with an asterisk will be filled out later; you can’t enter anything into it right now. Don’t try, because it won’t work. I trust you are capable of typing?”

Alexander snorted annoyedly in response. “Of course I can, I’m not a moron!” He wasn’t going to admit that he wasn’t the best at it, preferring to write, so instead he dutifully poked each displayed key with his two pointer fingers.

The first question asked his full name, split into three boxes; he filled out the first and last with “Alexander Hamilton.” He didn’t have a middle name, but the form appeared to accept him not filling in the entire question.

The second one asked for his age, the third for his race. The fourth wanted to know human DNA heritage, and he wracked his brain for an answer, finally skipping over it. The fifth was a follow-up to the fourth, asking what type of ezfi he was. Instead of being sorted into avian DNA types, it was a drop-down list that allowed for all the common types, something he was grateful for. After a long moment, he chose “Hybrid: [Middle-Central American Tropics & Atlantic Oceanic Island].”

Most of the questions were simple, until he reached the second section. He raised an eyebrow, looking up at Burr, who seemed absorbed in whatever he was doing. “A test?”

Burr didn’t bother to look up, only nodded. “So that we know if you’re as smart as you’re trying to make yourself sound.”

Truthfully, Alexander didn’t think he sounded like that. Maybe he normally did, but a messy ezfi with matted brown hair, covered in scrapes and looking like he was just beat up wasn’t the best look. After Burr made it abundantly clear he wasn’t going to say anything else, Alexander looked back down to the screen, filling out the questions. The faster he finished there, the quicker he could get out of this place.

* * *

The ezfi was a delicate female, but her hands gripped his arm and held it in place as she wiped a strange-smelling disinfectant over his skin. She looked like an otherwise pretty ezfi with bright red wings and long hair that was swept back, probably to stop contamination or some other medical excuse. Aaron Burr had sighed and brought Alexander to the medical bay once he had finished filling out what he could of the form; thankfully, he hadn’t accompanied Alexander when he was forced to strip and redress in the provided clothes.

To be perfectly fair, it had taken another threat of calling security to get him to comply. He was fairly sure that was why Burr had left for a short while; the black-winged ezfi already knew what to expect.

Alexander was in simple sneakers, the cheapest quality imaginable. Dark grey sweatpants, the drawstring pulled tight – his generally poor dietary choices left him skinny enough that it wasn’t the best idea to leave it overly lose. He was in a t-shirt, and while he welcomed having some better covering overall now, he was still hoping for a jacket or something of the sort.

The female plunged the syringe into a vein on his arm, and Alexander winced. He was fairly sure that his arm would be out of commission for the next week at this rate; it was one shot after the other, and then a blood collection, and then–

She pulled away as Aaron tapped on his armband. His typing wasn’t constant; rather, it was merely a background noise that surfaced now and then. Alexander doubted that Burr was working; more likely, he was sending messages to someone. Whatever the case might have been, he made an annoyed sound, yanking back his freed arm to hold it close to his chest. First his wings, now his arm; they were breaking his limbs one at a time. “Are we done now?”

“Patience, Alexander,” was Burr’s only response.

Alexander tipped his head in confusion, yelping when the woman snatched his arm back again. “Goddammit, I thought you were done!”

“Stop squirming, and I would be done faster,” she responded, maneuvering his arm to lay flat in a half-tube device that had a dark band curled around it. She let go to pick something else off of a tray, glaring at him and smacking his arm when he tried to move. Selecting a flat piece with a slight curve to it, she loaded a straight, sheer material into it and pressed his arm into place. She pulled the dark band around his arm before setting the flat object over the seam and pressing down, hard. It clicked into place, causing Alexander to jump and try to pull away.

“U-aum, what exactly are you doing?”

She lifted the flat piece away, setting it back onto the tray. “Your armband,” she answered, moving to mess with something out of his range of vision. “Your testing associate, Burr, will activate it for you and explain the next steps of processing.”

“Maria, I’m sure you’re perfectly capable of–”

The female looked through thick eyelashes at Aaron, no doubt plainly telling him that such a thing wouldn’t be happening. Aaron gave a long sigh, standing, and motioning for Hamilton to stand with him. “We’ll stop by Test Room 1 so I can activate it.”

Alexander glanced down to examine the band; it appeared identical to the one Burr – and, come to think of it, Maria – wore, made of a dark material that, while not uncomfortable, was strange to feel, laying flat and tight.

Burr started out of the medical bay, Alexander speeding up slightly to follow him. Instead of being pushed ahead or dragged, Burr didn’t mind Alexander merely walking behind him. Because of this, Alexander had a good view of Burr’s wings – something that caused him to furrow his eyebrows in confusion. “You’re wearing that thing on your wings, like I am.”

“Hm?” Burr turned to look at him questioningly before suddenly nodding in realization. “Oh. Yes. Wild-born ezfis must wear these active for a probationary period if they live in specific sectors of the city; in other sectors, all ezfis are required to wear them. They can be activated and deactivated remotely, as needed.”

“But...my wings...doesn’t it…?”

While continuing to walk, Aaron shrugged, although Alexander got the feeling he was getting annoyed. “Look, they just stop you from moving your wings, and it’ll only be for a little while at the most. I’m from...I am familiar with them, and I am still capable of flight. I just need to wear them due to my work; it’s a security measure that I can be grounded. But it’s just something that’s depending on where you end up.”

Alexander found himself reaching one hand around his back to lightly touch his feathers. With the bands on, he couldn’t completely close his wings, but he could press them fairly close to his back. “Should I...should I ask what you mean by that?”

Sighing, Burr opened the door to the Testing Room, motioning for Alexander to come inside. “You’re familiar with the ezfi trade, yeah?”

Alexander’s gaze fell to the ground. He definitely knew plenty about it. Not wanting to speak, he nodded. Aaron pulled him over to the table, making him rest his arm with the band on the desk before beginning to type something on the flat, glass screen. “Well, I’m going to tell you this right now: this place – New York City – is not as bad as a lot of other places.”

“Sounds like you just think that other places are extraordinarily bad!” Hamilton snapped back.

Burr shuffled his strangely dark wings, shrugging. “Maybe you are perceptive, Alexander. But...you are correct.” He tapped something on the flat screen before pressing and holding a button on Alexander’s armband, the small screen flashing and glowing to life. “The city operates on three sectors dealing with ezfis that were recently captured – trade is the most important, supposedly. They get first pick on ezfis that were brought in – they go poke and prod at them, take the pretty ones and auction them off in markets as pets or submissive servants. Education is next; they take the smartest, train them.”

Alexander found himself straightening up just slightly. _That_ was exactly what sector he would be getting into. And with that, his mind began to race. It was perfect! Get into education – being auctioned off as a _pet_ was _sickening_ , but in education, he would realistically have more freedom. And from there, band together the others. Someone there had to be an engineer, surely they could disable the wing-bands. Based on what Burr was saying, they could be turned on and off, so break that mechanism, and he should be able to fly. From there, he’d-!

Well, he hadn’t gotten that far, actually. He’d make the best of that situation when he got to it. It was better than complying to being stuck here forever.

“...And the last sector is the working class. Hydroponics farming, power plant work. The dirty jobs no one else wants to do. Hire out maids, things like that.”

Alexander merely nodded, already plotting. Being a cross-bred ezfi with such strangely colored wings – light blue, green, and then a deep red, as if they were dipped into blood – well, it was generally something ostracized in the Caribbean. Most were blues, indigoes, greens. It was those on the mainland that had the reds, pinks, purples, making it hard to deny his heritage.

Now, Alexander wasn’t exactly jumping to get back to the Caribbean. It was a world of memories that escaped him, of dangerous storms and struggling. He had been _dreaming_ of a better world, somewhere out of his homeland.

But... _yes_ , that would be a plan. Rally enough other ezfis, escape the city – and then he could find a nice little village, settle down, hide for a time should they come looking for him…

“There,” Burr said, pulling away from the computer, “it’s pretty straightforward, so I’m not going to bother explaining it. But the power button is here–” he motioned to the lowermost button, “and that turns on the screen itself, but background functions are always running. As for power capabilities, it’s fairly straightforward, made as we cannot take them off, so–”

Alexander was already tuning him out. So, they didn’t come off. That was fine, the education sector had to have tools, he could pull it off; leave it somewhere, and any tracking devices or other services would link to that location, not to him.

Burr walked to the door, handle clicking and unlocking when he put his wrist beside it. “I...you’re going to go back to your cell now.”

Hamilton nodded, and Burr led him out, the latter continuing to speak, “You’re surprisingly easy about this. Perhaps we’ll end up working together at some point, if you can control your outbursts.”

 _Oh_ , if only he knew the thoughts swirling in Alexander’s head. “Is there anything else I need to know? Anyone to avoid, anywhere to go?”

Aaron paused for a moment, looking thoughtful, before responding, “If you keep on your toes, be smart, but don’t put yourself out there – you’ll be fine, probably. I would be careful if you’re ever uptown, however.”

“Uptown?”

“Downtown is where most of the hydroponics, manufacturing, power, all the facilities are going to be at, where ezfis are packed into homes, and where most work. Security is tighter there in ezfi control, as well, while uptown is mostly them checking that everyone is supposed to be there. Uptown, then, is where most humans live, although there will be a clear enough difference between the rich and the regular. _Some_ of them are fine, and it’s difficult to accidentally wander into uptown, unless you’re in education, since a lot of their facilities are located up there.”

Alright, so the city had a clear divide. “Who should I worry about, then…?”

Aaron hummed thoughtfully before coming to a decision. “The human you met – Reynolds – should be avoided, if you can. He’s in charge of bringing in ezfis for sorting. Then, the head of ezfi auction and sale – his name’s George, but he goes by the name King – and whoever his little helper is at the time. Although, I don’t think you’d run into any of them…” His head suddenly jerked up. “Thomas Jefferson, too. He’s all over the city, being a leader of industry and tech. Rich, resourceful, and doesn’t see _anyone_ as being worth his time, from what I hear. Taller, with loose, dark hair.”

“Thomas Jefferson, got it,” Alexander repeated as they walked into the room of cells. He noticed that more were closed than before; other ezfis must have been returning from their own examinations. Burr motioned for him to step into a cell, and reluctantly, he did.

It felt like he was willingly walking into his own destruction.

Without another word, Burr shut and locked the door. His face fallen, he turned and walked off, leaving Alexander in the darkness of half-light.

Alexander couldn’t help but think Burr must have a horrible job.

* * *

It was not long before footsteps sounded once more.

Then came the screams and cries. A female with dark, curly strands tightly pulled back was yanked out of her cell, falling to the ground with a pained gasp. Her wings were a light yellow, and he saw a single, tiny feather flutter to the ground.

“Peggy! Stop, don’t take her!”

A male ezfi with black and red wings matching obnoxiously red-orange hair pulled Peggy to her feet, starting to drag her forward at the command of someone standing outside Alexander’s view. “Angelica! Eliza!”

“Samuel, handcuff her and put her in holding,” the voice continued, and Alexander couldn’t help but notice the distinctive British accent, although he couldn’t pinpoint what part of Britain it originated from. The male nodded feverently, and while he himself was thin and slight, he was able to force her along.

Someone scoffed – Alexander was fairly sure it was Reynolds. “King, we don’t have all day here. Grab ‘em and go.”

 _King_. That was who Burr mentioned, the human that was in charge of selling ezfis.

“You cannot rush perfection, Mr. Reynolds, but if we must go faster, then feel free to help,” King purred back, finally stepping into Alexander’s view. He was dressed in red, white, and gold; his outfit was neat, a suit tailored just for him. Glancing down to his own armband, he swiped along the surface. “Sammy, once you’re done over there load the other two females up as well.”

On cue, the skinny male came bounding across the room, wings bouncing. He unlocked the door to a cell holding a female with wings that were a soft pink, dark hair swept back. A few heartbeats passed as she stood, muscles tensed and eyes glaring, before she leaped out to strangle him.

It only took another heartbeat for Reynolds to twist her arms behind her back, pinning her wings tight against her spine, and forcing her to her knees. Samuel crawled backwards, a hand massaging his throat. “Well? King, get the damn ezfi before I let her go.”

“Hm. Why don’t _you_ take her over to holding? You’re a big strong human, aren’t you?”

Reynolds glared for a long few moments before yanking the ezfi to her feet. “ _Fine_.” He stomped off, the female squirming and jerking as he forced for forward. “Just get the others you want so I can let the other sector representatives in.”

King helped Samuel to his feet before nodding his head, and the ezfi scurried off to a cage directly to the right of the females’. Unlocking it, he helped out a third female, not quite as small as the first, but not as intimidating as the second’s. Her head was bowed, dark strands of hair falling over her face. Wings that were a deeper, darker at the top, less so along the bottom, where they were light. She tried to pull one arm away from Samuel’s to swipe it away, but his response was to shove it back down and nudge her forward.

She made it about two steps before tripping, the sweatpants she was in – her uniform looked just like his and the other females’, while Burr, Maria, and Samuel wore regular clothing – riding up on her leg and revealing painful-looking red scratches that twisted over the exposed skin. An involuntary hiss of pain escaped her, and Alexander found himself pressing against the small window to the cell, lips quirked into a worried expression. “Are...are you alright…?” He mumbled.

Back in the Caribbean, he’d seen plenty of injuries. Hell, he definitely looked like a mess right now, face surely still smeared with blood from earlier. The medical bay clearly wasn’t for making sure he was going to survive; it was just to perform a routine examination. But, her wounds looked new...she must have been injured when she was grabbed, just as he was. She glanced up at him, eyes wide,

Reynolds stepped back into Alexander’s line of sight, brushing invisible dust particles from his sleeves. King tipped his head as the female was pulled up once more and led out of the room, eyes locked on Alexander through the small window. “My, I didn’t notice that one when I first walked in.”

Reynolds shrugged, rubbing his palms together. “Some dirty hybrid picked up from the Caribbean. Education was looking into grabbing him, last I knew.”

Alexander shrank back slightly. Yes, exactly, he should be going with education. They were how he was going to get out of this place, he’d already put together a plan!

King moved forward, eyes roaming over Alexander, lingering on his wings. “He’s a little one, isn’t he? Not the smallest I’ve seen, but youthful. A good age for...well, I’m sure some of our bidders might find interest in him.”

“Yes, but he’s not a purebred, that’ll lower his selling price anyhow, and–”

“Ah, we’ll just say he’s from the tropics, the rainforests. Unusual coloration, very rare. The buyers eat that up, and are none the wiser. None of them actually bother to look through their ezfi’s files, and we can always go in and make a little...edit, to them, before he’s sold.”

Alexander pressed himself backwards, against the wall. He was _not_ going to let himself be taken. He could...Samuel, the red-haired ezfi, was weak enough that Alexander could leap over him, then he’d need to dodge Reynolds, and then he doubted King would be as quick to grab him, and then–

Samuel stood in front of the cell door, blocking Hamilton’s view of the two humans. That was fine, he could handle them. The door slid open.

Alexander leaped forward, hands outstretched, tackling Samuel to the ground. Shoving his palm hard into the other ezfi’s throat, he threw himself back to his feet, frantically looked around for an exit–his gaze landed on the open passageway leading back to the testing rooms and medical bay. His cheap sneakers pounded on the concrete flooring as he ran forward.

He needed to be quick, get through doorways, slow down his pursuers–

A hand grabbed his left wing and yanked him backwards. He gave a yelp of pain, one that quickly turned to a muffled gasping as the delicate joints were twisted and pulled with a sickening squelch and a _pop_.

Pain, warm – no, hot – bloomed along his back, and he collapsed to one knee, the hand disappearing. The metal banded device around the bases of his wings kept his left wing frozen in place, twisted wrong and yanked out of place, and he clenched his teeth together to muffle the small sounds escaping him. The pressure returned, a knee pressing his back down, forcing his forehead against the concrete.

“Reynolds, go put that one in holding, will you? Sammy’s going to have some bruising, it looks like.”

Reynolds removed his knee, stepped in front of him, but from Alexander’s position, all he could see were gleaming, polished black shoes.

“Oh, and do gag him. His noises are...undesirable.” A few moments later, Reynolds reached down, pulling Alexander to his feet. His wing jerked at the movement, and Hamilton let out an involuntary cry.

_Why the fuck did he ever think that was going to work?_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And with that, the first chapter is completed. I have a lot planned for the story, so expect more updates in the near future!
> 
> Alexander's wing is dislocated, here. It might not seem like it took a lot to do it, but when you're trying to stop someone running for their life, you pull hard.


	2. Auction

The gag was cutting into the corners of Alexander’s mouth. Reynolds had scrambled to keep Alexander in place long enough to grab the closest item he could stuff against the ezfi’s tongue, securing it in place, and then it was handcuffs, twisting his arms around his body.

His cheeks were damp once more, not from blood, this time, but from pained tears. His wrists were crossed over one another, cuffs not giving in the slightest, uncomfortably tight around his armband. The position left his wings pressed tight along his spine, tighter than they should have been with the wing-bands on, curved unnaturally. With every jolt and shake of the truck, he cried out, the sound muffled. His left wing wasn’t sitting in its joint properly, was popped out of place, jumped and twisted with every minute movement. The pain hadn’t receded; rather, it hummed and buzzed just beneath the surface, only leaping into excess with agitation.

From what he could tell, it was dislocated. Definitely hurt enough to be, in his experience.

“Eliza, how’s your leg…?” One of the females – the one with pink wings, and a dangerous expression, looked over, eyes locked onto one of the others, one with blue wings, almost the sort Alexander would recognize in the Caribbean.

Not quite; the colors were a little off, not the same patterns. But close.

Eliza sighed, pulled her knees to her chest, looked down at the floor. A thick strap was around her waist, looping over her chest and shoulders, secured with a magnetic lock to a bar that ran the length of the trailer. She couldn’t move any further, even if she truly wished to; they had each been subject to the same treatment.

“It’s fine. Just some scratches that were hurting, made me trip back there. It’s...Angelica, it’s really nothing. They’ll heal.”

“Hrmph.” The pink-winged ezfi, Angelica, adjusted her posture, and leaned forward a bit to allow her wings to relax a little more. And then she lifted her head, eyes drifting to gaze at Alexander, the first time she’d acknowledged his existence during the ride. He tried to reciprocate the stare, unsure of the thoughts swirling in her mind, but then the truck jumped once more, and he was gasping for breath as he was slammed against the wall of the trailer, pinning his injured wing. A moment later, he was able to shift forward once more, but his vision was already blurred with another round of stinging tears.

He hardly ever cried. He wasn’t showing emotional weakness, wasn’t letting his carefully constructed walls fall apart. But his wing fucking _hurt_ , and he wasn’t exactly asking to be breaking down like a baby, but the constant thudding interrupted only by white-hot flashes was _plenty enough_ for him.

“Who are you?” She asked, voice low, just able to be heard above the rumbling of the truck walls.

“Mningh,” he answered. Pretty hard to speak with a gag.

“Uh-huh,” was her reply. To her right, Eliza shifted slightly, the best she could considering their restraints.

“Angelica, give him a break. Please. He’s only gagged like that because he tried to fight back, I...I think. There was shouting after I was brought out here, and he’s all beat up. But he asked me if I was okay, and that was the only reason he got attention on himself in the first place.”

Angelica huffed and narrowed her eyes to look over him further, and Alexander shifted uncomfortably under her gaze. But then, her eyes fell to his injured wing, and he could _feel_ the discomfort, the wince when she realized. “Yeah, ‘Liza. I will.”

The truck rumbled to a stop, and he was pulled to the side in his bonds, righting himself after a few moments. Maybe they had just stopped for a moment. But, when the vehicle failed to continue onwards, when Alexander realized the outside noises had faded dramatically, he sagged on his restraints.

They were at their destination, wherever that may be.

“Angelica, Eliza, I don’t want to be split up from you guys, they’ll be coming for us any minute now-” This came from the yellow-winged ezfi, Peggy.

“We won’t! Or if we do, we’ll, uh…” Eliza.

“We’ll find each other,” Angelica snapped, not with malice, but resolution.

And with that, the doors of the truck split open, allowing in harsh electrical light.

* * *

 He scrunched his eyes shut as someone dragged a rough cloth over his face, making the cut sting. It was damp, and when it was pulled away, it left his face cool, dried tears wiped away.

“I think the higher-ups were desperate for a profit. Could only get three girls, so they went for the first male they saw hanging out in the cells,” a woman muttered, dunking the washcloth in a bucket.

“What can you expect? He looks like he’s from way south, anyone else from his area was probably sold off before they get this far north. You know how it is.” The response came from a man who was fiddling with some sort of box.

“He’s a mess, probably tried to bite his handlers or something, considering the gag. Looks gross, too. New owner’s gonna have a blast with him, I’m sure.”

Alexander jerked away from the woman, whose hands were getting a little too close to his face. Her response was to dig her fingernails into his skin as she wiped some mud off his neck, and he let out an involuntarily hiss in discomfort. Of course, this made the corners of his lips cut into the gag a little more, just continuing the cycle.

“Eh, not my problem. I go home tonight having made a little more money, and that’s all that matters to me. Sucks being on commission for how many we process, but it pays well enough anyway, I guess,” the man mumbled, annoyed, pulling out a hairbrush from the box. “Although I was hoping that cosmetology school would land me somewhere nicer.”

The woman snorted, and Alexander winced when the man pulled his hair tie out and yanked the brush through his matted hair. “Quite frankly, I doubt you actually went to school at all.”

“Hey, it’s up to whoever buys ‘im to actually deal with everything. I’m just here to make them look half-presentable from a distance in the auction hall, and that place has horrible lighting anyway. I mean, that’s sort of the idea. Drop a little file out for the buyers with basic information, and then drag ‘em out onto the stage. That way no one looks too closely and we get away with more.”

“How analytical. So now you’re, what, a photographer? Film artist? Or an ophthalmologist? Psychologist? Philosopher? I think all of those could apply to your little speech right there.”

Alexander tried to tune out of their banter. The ladies – Angelica, Eliza, and Peggy – had been pulled out one by one, sent off to who-knows-where. He’d been the last out of the truck, left sitting in his bonds for what felt like ages, anxiety brewing. It was the fear that something was going to happen, but he was unsure of quite when.

And then he’d been stuck with the two most annoying humans he’d ever had the pleasure to meet.

If he wasn’t still handcuffed, if his wing wasn’t still hot and taking the forefront of his attention, he more certainly would have shut the idiots up the first chance he got.

“Mrph!” A sickly ripping noise. It felt like patches of hair were being ripped from his head, but the man seemed satisfied with the result.

“Alright, looks good enough for me. Think he’s ready to be dumped in the queue.”

“Fine, get him and-” She brushed up against his wing, and he yanked against his bonds, pain in his wrists fortelling with certainty bruises to come, and his wing felt like it was on fire.

Chest heaving and fighting back tears, he shook his head and pulled away from her what little he could. The position he was in currently had him standing in the center of the floor, handcuffs hooked to a ring on a pole that rose above his head. He would have kicked out with his legs, but they were likewise secured, and his wings were kept folded between his back and his arms. There was almost no movement possible.

He felt so vulnerable.

“Uh…”

“I can see why they went with the gag.”

“Fucking hell, yeah, alright, I’m calling some attendants or security or someone. I’m not paid enough to deal with this shit when he clearly wants to murder me,” the woman muttered. “You might be, I’m not.” She stomped back a few feet, close to the sloppy bucket she’d used to wet the cloth, and began tapping away at her armband.

He squirmed in his bonds, trying to alleviate pressure on his wing as they discussed in the background. After a long moment, the woman let out a frustrated hiss and stormed over to the box the mad had been fiddling around with earlier, digging through it.

“Well? What did they say?”

“They said “oh we’re on break, you don’t need us, just sedate him, yadda yadda yadda!” She mocked. There was a clacking, the ruffling of something, and she pulled out a little bottle. “This is idiocy.”

“How long does that take to kick in?”

“Eh, little while. We’ll just leave ‘im until the end of the auction, drag him out there last minute. It’ll be fine.”

Nonononono. There was no way he was letting them stick that inside him! His muscles were already sore from all the shots earlier. He pulled his head back at her approach. The man looked bored.

She walked around behind him and slightly to the side, hands deftly moving to release whatever it was that Reynolds had used to gag him with. In an instant, she stepped back, as though expecting him to snap and chew her hand off. Instead, he spat the gag out and sucked in air. The corners of his mouth felt raw, and his jaw was sore from being held in one position. Quite frankly, it felt good to breathe again.

It felt less good when she slipped around him and grabbed his jaw, tilting his head upwards. In her other hand, she held the bottle of mystery liquid – probably something with a sedative effect.

Naturally, he snapped his mouth shut.

And of course, her highly logical course of action was to shove him backward against the pole, twisting his wing further.

“Hn- Gah! S-stop!” He cried out. It felt as though his wing would be ripped off of his body. The woman merely took the opportunity to dump the foul-tasting sedative down his throat and shove his jaw shut with a forceful, painful snap, leaving him gagging and coughing through his nose.

“Ugh. There we go,” she muttered, not a hint of empathy in her voice.

* * *

 When he was released from the pole, the restraints around his ankles stayed, forcing him to shuffle slowly forward. His head was pounding, and a bitter taste remained on his tongue.

“Hurry up,” the man from before said, commanding, but voice uninterested.

Well. He’d move a little faster if he could think straight. His head was swimming, but the aches and pains from before seemed to have vanished in his confusion. The dizziness didn’t help his speed, of course.

A hand pressed into his back, forcing him to stumble forward. He was hardly able to catch himself before tripping, and let out a little grunt. At least they hadn’t replaced the gag, right? That was a plus!

Although, he wasn’t so sure if he could form intelligible words at this point.

He shook his head, fighting to focus on the ground below him. A few strands of his long hair fell in front of his eyes, and he tried to push them away with his shoulder, a wobbly motion that ultimately failed. To be perfectly honest, he wasn’t so sure that was just a sedative they gave him, or even if it was a true sedative at all.

Loud, reverberating noises reached his ears. It would be a fight to decode the words said, but they thrummed and hummed.

One beat, no melody. An auctioneer’s song, words flowing quick, hard to understand, constant. The lack of a tune, a constant rhythm.

He was going to be auctioned off like an animal put up for market.

Even in a haze, he found himself dragging his feet, stumbling, tripping as he was forced forward. He couldn’t do this. He had been kidnapped, humiliated, he refused to let himself be sold to the highest bidder!

The entryway was a door, propped open to show the stage. Lights, faintly yellow. Noises, numbers called out. Peggy was there, her yellow wings unmistakable, standing out so vividly against grey clothing. But then, she was being pulled from the stage, dragged away to the sound of the auctioneers exclamations. Sold, to the highest bidder in the room.

Hands looped around his arms as he was thrown forward, steadying him, keeping him upright. The world around him spun, what few protests he had were unvoiced, and he felt trapped in muddled confusion as he was shoved forward to the stage. A voice, sounding booming and overbearing now that was in the room itself, began to run.

"Sorry gentlemen, but our last item of the night is a little male from the Caribbean! Although I'm sure you all will be able to find some use for him, no? A bit of a fixer-upper project, but his wings are an unusual coloration that's guaranteed to turn heads, and he's got lovely hair and form. The provided files say the most; he's not one that will disappoint you – see even now how obedient he is?"

Only...only because of this drug in his system. If he could, he'd be fighting his way out of this hellhole.

Instead, Alexander mustered up the control to glare out at the crowd. It was the best he could do at the moment.

The auctioneer called out a starting price, and the bidding began. Everything moved fast, seemed to blur in his slowed thoughts. His gaze moved to those gathered, drifted over the people there. It wasn’t a mass, but a collection, men and women dressed well. Probably entitled.

Wouldn’t surprise him. They were willing to shell out money under the pretense he’d be a nice little _pet_ , of course they’d be absolute nutcases.

The numbers, the payments, the bids went up, and he found himself squinting. The lights just seemed so bright, glaring, almost. They hadn’t been before. In contrast, the humans – at least, it had seemed they were mostly humans, perhaps an ezfi already owned there as assistance – that were in the crowd were left in comparative shadows. It felt like all eyes were on him.

His body felt warmer than it had before. Especially that little area around his wing, the joint that connected it to his body. It wasn’t comfortable, per se; it felt too warm for that. If anything, it was a little too hot. Idly, he wondered how long it would be until the heat was painful.

Things seemed quieter than they had. That was a little odd, wasn’t it? That thrumming voice of the auctioneer had died off. Did that mean he was sold?

His eyelids felt heavy, but he forced his gaze over into the crowd, through the creeping shadows and the blinding light. Eyes stared back.

Hands were on him again, and he shuffled forward.

Where was he going?

Oh well. It probably didn’t matter.

His wing wasn’t feeling too good right now. Should he be concerned?

No...he shouldn’t.

Instead, he should just let go.

That sounds nice.

With that, he allowed his mind to drift into a broken, blissful haze. He was vaguely aware of people around him. At some point, he was pretty sure he was picked up, and he relaxed into the person’s warm arms, resting his head against them with a contented sigh. Words were exchanged, annoyance expressed, someone snapping that they weren’t aware their ezfi came doped up on drugs. He wasn’t quite sure why they were speaking like that; after all, this was comfortable.

More movement. A part of him was sad he wasn’t being carried anymore.

Another person. An ezfi. A doctor? They were touching his wing, and he squirmed a bit, not liking the attention. Little wisps of pain broke past the cloudy barriers, then a _pop_ and he was crying, not that he would ever admit it afterwards, but then he was falling down, down, down, and it was hard to ignore how exhausted everything had left him.

So, he slept.

* * *

 Orange.

That was the first color Alexander saw when he came to next. His mind was clear, but the light was unrelenting, and even his shut eyes left him seeing orange. Sleep still clung to him, and it was only the inescapable brightness that suggested he not fall back into rest.

There was something soft under his head, and he buried his face into it. A pillow, most likely, smelling clean and fresh. That was nice.

Wait. Shit.

Where the fuck was he?

His eyes flew open, and he squinted. Yellow light. Not like the auction hall, but natural. Sunshine.

He was laying on a daybed, pillows propped up around either end. The sheets were slightly wrinkled from laying on top of them, but they had a lovely soft feel that matched the pillows. He snorted, still half-asleep. They were probably stupidly expensive.

The wallpaper – or maybe it was paint; he wasn’t sure, and didn’t really care – was a light yellow, matching atmosphere of the room. He twisted over onto his left side from his stomach, noting that for whatever reason, the pain in his wing had faded. It was dull, sore, but not firely like it had been. Examination of the join saw that his wing didn’t seem to be popped out of place any longer; rather, everything was seated where it should be. Reaching a hand to his face, he felt twin dried tear tracks, although his memory of exactly _how_ he acquired those was uncertain. Likely, it had something to do with his wing.

The wall he faced was dominated by great windows, starting at about the height the mattress he lay on began at and rising to just below the ceiling. The wall by his feet was similar; sitting up and looking out through the glass, he was forced to cover his eyes with one hand in response to the light. Sunset, it seemed. What time of day had it been when he arrived in the city, exactly?

Whatever. It didn’t matter. He brushed several strands of hair back from his face, noting that his hair tie was probably lost forever. As he moved his hand, the sight of his wrists caught his attention. Deep purple bruises and painful red marks had spread across his right wrist; his left was hidden by the armband he wore. He brushed his fingertips over the marks, wincing at the touch. Looked like all that struggling hadn’t been for anything after all.

Fantastic.

Alexander let out a cough and arched his back, stretching, wings twitching with the movements. As awesome as this was, he wasn’t interested in sticking around for long. Find a door, act like you belong, and then he’d walk the fuck out of this shithole.

“Yes, sir.” A sigh. “Yes, I’ll relay it to you when I have the chance. Maybe we can settle this over lunch with Lafayette?” A pause. “We’ll schedule something soon. Yes, I am planning to tell you, but not at the moment; I’m a bit hung up right now. Alright.”

He spun over, nearly falling off the daybed as he twisted to face the other direction. The opposite walls were similar; a small desk crowded into the corner, a bedside cabinet.

And, most notably, an open door. Well, it was cracked, enough for the words to filter through. Best he could tell, they came from a man, a thick southern accent twisting into each syllable. Alexander shuddered, the voice sounding familiar, but not quite one he could pinpoint. Someone was out there.

He nearly leaped out of his skin when the wooden door creaked open. His heart was racing, he was ready to pounce – and instead of the man, a little ezfi female stood in the doorway. It wasn’t Angelica, Eliza, or Peggy; rather, she was dressed in plain, but customized clothing, with dark skin and light brown wings, carrying a glass of water and a handful of something. Her response was similar, but muted; a small gasp, and a half-step backwards. “You’re awake.”

Mouth suddenly dry – when was the last time he’d had anything to eat or drink? – he nodded. She blinked before holding out the water. By the time she caught his attention a second time, he’d already downed half the glass. “I brought you some over-the-counter meds. To ease your pains, that is. You weren’t too good when Mr. Jefferson brought you back.” She held out a few tiny pills nestled in her palm, worriedly looking on when he choked on his drink and fell into a coughing fit.

_Jefferson!? As in, Thomas fucking Jefferson, one of the only damn humans I was told to avoid in this place?_

He forced down the little pills, trying to stifle his hacking breaths by finishing the rest of the glass. Nonono, this wasn’t good. “L-look, thank you-”

“Sally.”

“-Sally, sure, but I really – I can’t stay here! Jefferson is-”

The female, Sally, suddenly dipped her head and snatched back the emptied glass at the sound of approaching footsteps. In a moment, she was out the door, leaving it wide open. Alexander felt a twist of anxiety growing in his chest, found himself pressing back away from the door in a cruel mockery of his earlier cell. It was hard enough that it made his wing twinge and spark in protest, certainly not helping the situation.

“Alex?” The man’s voice from earlier questioned as someone with _quite a few_ inches on Alexander filled the doorway. He shrunk down, gulped, and narrowed his eyes. The man must’ve looked through his files, then, to find his name, and he was starting to question why he even put a name that made sense down. “Alex” was a name _friends_ could call him, not some entitled idiot.

“ _Hamilton_ , actually. Or Alexander if you’re really feeling snazzy, Jeffershit.”

The human –  _Thomas Jefferson_ – pulled back in surprise, but then his lips pursed just slightly in amusement. “My, that’s quite the difference from the sniffling, mewling little ezfi I had the pleasure of carrying out of the auction house.”

Ah. Well, fuck. Alexander chose to glare in response, trying to hide his embarassement. “That’s because I’ve got a clearer head. Helps me see right through your bullshit.”

“Hm. Yes, I can see why you’d think that, although I can’t help but appreciate that you already took the time to learn my name, darlin’,” Jefferson responded, that little amusement spreading into a visible smile – or a smirk, it was hard to tell. Alexander clenched his fists.

He’d already drawn the parallel to his time in the holding cells.

Time to repeat, this time right.

Wings half-spread, arms out. Not to kill, but to incapacitate long enough for him to run.

He leaped, and got to enjoy a half-second of Jefferson’s eyes wide in surprise, shock. The human might have been prepared to deal with a piss-poor attitude, but he certainly wasn’t expecting Alexander to go for his throat within a minute of meeting.

Quite frankly, it was the human’s fault for fixing him up at all.

“Aahhng-!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So majiniesthings drew Aaron Burr from this AU; he looks pretty awesome and I recommend [taking a look at their awesome art!](https://majiniesthings.tumblr.com/post/168712913040/ive-been-meaning-do-draw-something-for)
> 
> This chapter was a little shorter than the previous, but I felt like it was a good place to end, haha.


	3. Observation

Jefferson’s movements were not those of an experienced fighter. He wasn’t weak, but he was unsure.

Which would all be fine and dandy, the  _ perfect  _ thing to pick up on and use to his advantage, except for the fact that he had several inches and easily fifty pounds on Alexander – skill became negligible at that point, especially as Alexander was so easily being restrained now.

“Get the fuck off of me!” Alexander screamed, kicking his feet upwards, trying to connect with anything there was. Jefferson let out a grunt of pain, but dug his fingers into Alexander’s shoulders, the two of them falling to the floor.

The ezfi cried out, struggling, beating his wings against the ground as much as he could with his restraints. The joints of his wings were pressing into his spine, the injury from earlier flaring up, the wingbands cutting into him, and he found himself unable to do much more than futilely struggle. He let out a choked whine as Jefferson pinned him down, the human moving one hand over his mouth, silencing him.

Alexander squirmed, panicking. That could have been his only chance to escape, when Thomas had his guard down, unprepared. Chest heaving, he tried to do something,  _ anything _ , bite the human’s hand, kick him hard enough to force him off, whatever he could do.

“Stop it!” Jefferson snapped, but when Hamilton’s gaze jumped to meet the other’s, he saw fear. “ _ Please _ , just stop struggling!”

Muscles burning from his efforts, Alexander finally stilled, breathing heavily through his nose. Warily, Jefferson removed his hand from the ezfi’s lips, moving it to Alexander’s forehead to keep him pressed down against the floor. “T-there...there we go.” The human let out a nervous sigh. “Right, honey?”

“ _ Let me go, you bastard _ ,” Alexander hissed, trying to free his hands. He could feel his armband rubbing into his skin. “I’ve already heard plenty about you already, and-”

“People say a lot about me. Now, I want  _ you _ to  _ listen _ .” The ezfi glared at him, but found himself involuntarily silenced, and the human continued. “You will get  _ nowhere _ if you fight. I  _ can _ and  _ will _ know if you try to escape – your armband includes a tracking device that will tell me exactly where you are at all times, and your wing-bands will limit your range of motion.” Alexander paled at those words. “But I’m not going to keep you chained to a wall. I know that you’re scared, and this is something entirely new. So, I’m going to let up.  _ But don’t you dare move _ .”

Alexander shuddered at Jefferson’s voice. Dangerous undertones had crept into it, and he was almost scared to wonder what it truly entailed. But, when the human slowly sat back, sitting on his heels and lifting his weight from Alexander, the ezfi remained still. “Are you okay?”

“I was kidnapped, beat up, and am currently in pain, so let’s go with  _ no _ ,” Alexander responded. Jefferson’s eyes widened before narrowing, and Alexander flinched and tensed, half-expecting the human to lash out.

“I’ll get some stronger pain medications than what Sally had for you if your condition doesn’t improve,” he said. Alexander stared at him before slowly moving his arms to prop himself up, trying to ease some pressure off of his wings. Jefferson watched his movements cautiously – he had told Alexander not to move, after all – but as the ezfi made no other motions, he didn’t intervene. “Now. Would you like to be realistic?”

“No,” Hamilton replied dryly. 

Jefferson rolled his eyes. “Alright, sweetie, allow me to explain. You belong to  _ me _ now. Don’t start shouting – and yes, I can see it in your face, don’t deny it – but here’s how things are going to go. Don’t make any attempts to run away from me, or cause destruction or harm. I’m going to pick you up and carry you over to the bathroom, where I expect you to clean yourself up. We’ll go from there.”

Alexander gulped, but nodded. Jefferson finished with a softer tone, “Whatever you may have heard, you’re not just here so that I can hurt you. Everything is new and strange, and that’s okay. Now, just relax. I had someone set your wing back in place, but I don’t want you to stress it any further.” The ezfi frowned at that, and while he leaned away, he didn’t struggle when Jefferson rose to his feet with Alexander in his arms. He didn’t like the deceptively gentle words, and how easily Jefferson could hold him…he was light; he had to be, since the heavier you are, the harder it is to fly, but it was nearly effortless for the human.

Jefferson nudged open the door, which had fallen half-shut during their struggle. Alexander shifted in the human’s arms, uneasily noting how he was effectively trapped between Jefferson’s chest and his arms, wings carefully folded back. Then, he was swaying as Jefferson walked out of the room and into a second, open space. There was a bed, a desk, other small bits of furniture and personal items.  _ Jefferson’s bedroom? _ And then, Jefferson passed through his bedroom and into the hallway. Alexander was just barely able to catch a glimpse of Sally turning a corner and disappearing before he was dropped to the floor, suppressing a surprised cry when he wobbled on his feet.

“Here’s the guest bathroom, for your use at the moment. You’ve got fifteen minutes – there are unscented toiletries, a towel, washcloth, and razor for your use. Once you’ve finished, switch into the change of clothing sitting on the sink. It may not fit very well as your size was estimated from your current garb, but we’ll address that later. Do you have any allergies I should know about, to dyes or chemicals in standard soaps and such?”

“No, I don’t,” Alexander growled, pushing Jefferson away and opening the bathroom door. “Just...I don’t know, just let me take a fucking shower in peace.” He ignored the human’s dark expression, forcefully closing the door behind him. It didn’t lock.

He let out a sigh and dropped to the ground.  
Godammit. Just... _why_!? He’d had some nasty luck in the past, but this really took the cake. A _tracking device_!? Literal metal _cuffs_ on his _wings_!?

“H-how...how am I supposed to get out of this one?” he mumbled. At this point...there really wasn’t much that he could do, except play along until he could get his hands on something that would let him ditch his restraints. 

Well, he wouldn't quite play along. He’d make things difficult enough that he wasn’t sucked any deeper into this world, without going so far as to end up with him locked up and bound.

Forcing himself to his feet, he looked around. The bathroom wasn’t tiny, but there wasn’t much to see – a toilet, sink, cabinet. There was a fuzzy, white bath rug in the middle of it all, and Alexander contemplated pouring conditioner or whatever other liquids were at his disposal on it

But no, the clock was ticking. Alexander clicked on the fan before pulling back the shower curtain, twisting the knob as far in one direction as it would go, then switched the water from the bath faucet to the showerhead. Satisfied with the amount of noise it was making, he closed the curtain to stop water from splattering everywhere and began to open the cabinets, mess around with whatever he could find. Surely a man would keep scissors or blades around...and wouldn’t notice their absence.

* * *

Alexander jumped when Jefferson had banged on the bathroom door, saying “Ten minutes left!”. He just shook his head. He’d gone through what was here, but considering it was only a guest bathroom, there really wasn’t much to see. Extra bottles of soap, a few rolls of toilet paper, that sort of thing.

“Have some patience, I’ve got more limbs to wash than you!” Alexander snapped back, shutting the cabinet doors. He briefly considered just lightly wetting his hair and wings to give the appearance of having showered, but not knowing when he would have another chance to clean up…

He internally sighed, then stripped off and hopped in the shower, washing up as quickly as he could. His feathers were a disaster, but he could only be thankful that none of his primaries had been snapped or broken.

After cleaning up and shaving, he briefly considered trying to remove one of the blades from the razor – something that proved futile, due to how they were locked in. Using the device as a whole wouldn’t do much, anyway; how much damage could he do in a reasonable timeframe with a cartridge razor?

He’d only just finished pulling the simple, dark grey, long-sleeved shirt over his head – it was longer than he’d expected, coming down several inches past the low-waisted, black pants he’d been provided – when there was a loud rapping on the door. A moment after, Jefferson called out, “Are you finished in there?” Annoyed, Alexander pushed wet strands of his hair back from his eyes, tucking them behind one ear. The human hadn’t thought to provide a hairband or brush, of course.

“Yes!” Alexander responded, and Jefferson took that as his cue to open the bathroom door, flipping the fan back off and returning the room to silence. The ezfi looked up at the human for several seconds before carefully smoothing over his facial expressions and asking, “So. What now?”

Jefferson appeared taken aback at Alexander’s demeanor before ushering the ezfi into the hallway, placing his hand on Alexander’s back. The ezfi shuddered, the movement extending to his wings, and Jefferson responded by moving his hand to gently wrap around the stiff connecting bar between the two cuffs that made up Alexander’s wing-bands. The movement was careful, the touch light, but its placement scared him – human’s grip was placed near both his most recent injury, but also where it would only take one perfect hit to do serious damage to the muscles and connections at the base of his wings.

He had a feeling that Jefferson knew exactly that, too.

“Well…” The human looked away, face hidden by his poofy hair, before resuming, “The more you cooperate, the better, alright? So...I mean, it’s fairly late, now. Just past sunset, actually, but that’s always late in the summer.”

Alexander didn’t comment, but he didn’t really know where that sentence was going until Jefferson continued, “But from what I understand, you weren’t provided much food-wise while in processing, correct?” Not waiting for an answer, the human nodded, pressing lightly on the metal bar and spurring Alexander forward. “There’s a little something waiting for you downstairs. I’m sure you’re hungry.”

Hamilton didn’t try to meet his gaze, just flatly stating “Nah, after you go a couple days straight without eating you really don’t notice it anymore.”

Jefferson gave an awkward cough, but said nothing more.

* * *

He’d passed out almost immediately in the little sunroom after devouring what food he’d been offered, some weird-shaped pasta with little chunks of meat and cheese in it. Jefferson had probably had some internal thoughts on his table manners, but hey, it wasn’t exactly a formal meal and once he’d taken the first few bites, he was quickly reminded of just how hungry he really was.

Of course, Jefferson had locked the door after him. Alexander supposed that he couldn’t really blame the man, considering his actions earlier that evening, and despite having only woken up maybe an hour before, the ezfi had found himself dragged back into sleep. For all he knew, there were sedatives in his meal – he just hoped that such a thing wasn’t the case. But, upon waking up sometime in the just-before-dawn hours of the night, he’d determined that Jefferson was likely either still asleep or not quite in a position to check up on him quite yet.

So, he’d taken the opportunity to explore his little prison cell of a sunroom, flipping on the overhead light. Outside of a quick glance-over the day prior, he hadn’t been able to look around in what little space he had. The furnishings weren’t overly-simplistic, but were sparse; there was the daybed, a desk, a bedside table, and a closet space, albeit one lacking in hangars and sporting only a few shelves. It was disconcerting, almost, to look through so many empty drawers. If anything, it reminded him of a hotel.

The room itself was small, too small to fully spread his wings in, even if he wasn’t wearing the wing-bands which otherwise prevented it. The furniture didn’t help too much with that illusion, either, although it seemed like just about everything was empty anyways. Peeking into the drawer in the bedside table revealed nothing but a plain sleep mask, and as the ezfi disliked using one anyway, he shut the drawer once more. The desk provided a similar outcome; there was a flat screen that lay flat against the wood, similar to the one Burr had used while in processing, but he couldn’t find any way to turn it on. There was a lamp built in on one side, functional enough. Then, he set off going through the desk drawers themselves.

He found most to be empty, just a plain wood interior being shown in each one. The topmost drawer held a thin, black, glassy tablet, and he could assume that it was meant to work in tandem with the screen on the desk as a portable extension. However, it too wouldn’t activate, and he resigned to leaving it where he found it.

Standing on his tiptoes, he looked through the uppermost shelf of the closet. Considering the lack of a dedicated dresser, outside of the empty, open portion for hanging clothing up, the shelving was likely intended to serve as storage, mainly. The self highest to the ceiling – one that he admittedly had some troubles reaching – wasn’t itself anything special, either, although it was the only one occupied. The contents weren’t anything special; just some spare blankets and sheets, it looked like.

Stretching, he looked out the window. By now, dawn was just starting to creep over the horizon, the sky gaining a slight peachy-hue in contrast to the dark orange that was a result of the light pollution tainting the sky around them. Of course, the sun rose on the opposite side of the building, so at least there was no direct glare. A flicker of movement caught his eye, and he moved to the daybed, propped up on his knees as he looked down out of the windows.

He was far up, farther up than he’d previously assumed – near the top of some sort of stacked housing scenario, perhaps? He wasn’t sure – but below him, he caught a glimpse of dark grey wings. He wasn’t surprised; ezfis were bound to be out and about in the early morning, heading off to work an early shift. But as he stared downwards, he found himself noting the white spots, forming something akin to the rings of a shooting target. At the very center, right where the wings met their owner’s back, was a crimson spot – the bull’s-eye of the target.

A moment later, the ezfi flapped his wings once, twice, and then disappeared out of Alexander’s view.

He blinked, suddenly seeming to return to himself sitting up in the sunroom with the sound of footsteps in the background. Leaping out of bed to click off the light, in an instant he was back in his bed, appearing relaxed and sleepy.

Jefferson must have woken up, although Alexander wasn’t sure if the man had noticed that he was awake yet. It was difficult to tell if the footsteps had been approaching his door or not, but even if they hadn’t been, he didn’t want to risk the human having noticed that he was awake, what with how he’d turned on the light earlier.

The best he could tell, Jefferson was just walking around, getting ready for the day. He could hear the sound of drawers opening and closing, doors, and after a few minutes, water turning on. Cautiously, he raised his head away from the pillows. Alright, that was fine. The man was in the shower.

He slipped back out of the bed, dropping to the floor. The change of clothes he’d been given the day before when he’d washed up was better than what he’d had in the processing facility, but he was still lacking in shoes (although he had socks) and his hair was tangled, falling loose over his shoulders. Pushing a few rogue strands out of his eyes, he fell into perfect silence, listening. Yep, okay, he was good to go.

As the room slowly illuminated with the dawn’s light, he forewent turning the light back on. There was no reason to, at this point. Instead, he took the opportunity to examine not the room itself, but what was keeping him in.

He couldn’t just run away when there was a tracker on him. But he doubted that Jefferson had the foresight to commonly go checking where he had been, only really using the tool if he ran away. If he was able to find a way to sneak around at times that the human wouldn’t think to look, he could potentially find tools or...get his hands on a kitchen knife, or something...that would help him out there.

From what he could tell, the door’s locks primarily functioned through some sort of a wireless system. Not good for him.

Frowning, he tried to find some way to remove the cover of the black box he suspected controlled the lock, built into the handle. He suspected that it was mostly just glue or something similar holding it together, maybe a few screws at the most. If he could disable it, maybe it would release the lock…

* * *

This was good headway. He was fairly sure that if he could just get something flat to force into the side, he’d be able to pop the cover off and pull the mechanism apart.

Suddenly, the handle started to turn, and he just about leaped out of his skin jumping back away from it, giving a grunt of pain when he tripped over and fell backwards onto the daybed. Wincing, he sat up enough to rub between his shoulders, near the base of his wings, at the ache. So much for pretending to be asleep when a certain human stopped by.

His head jerked upwards when the door opened, Jefferson filling the doorway once again. This time, however, the human stood braced and ready, and Alexander’s heart sank in his chest when he realized that Jefferson wouldn’t be falling for his tricks more than once. If he was going to get out, he had to do it in one shot.  
“I see you’re already awake, Alexander.”

“Hard to stay asleep with it so bright out,” he answered, despite knowing from the previous night’s events that there would be no sun shining into his windows until the evening.

Jefferson just tipped his head slightly before motioning towards the bedside table. “I’ll make sure you get some curtains. In the meantime, there’s a sleep mask in the drawer.”

Alexander nodded, not letting on that he’d already looked through everything. After a brief pause, Jefferson continued, “Let’s go eat breakfast.”

The ezfi glared at him, not liking the tone – that of a thinly-veiled command – but didn’t argue, and Jefferson said, “I can imagine that you have a lot of questions. Or, sarcastic comments leading into what you want to know. So, darlin’, if you will, we’ll eat and discuss together.” He flourished one hand out towards the bedroom, and Alexander stood.

“Do you think I could maybe get a hairbrush first? I mean, I look like shit and feel like it too,” the ezfi grumbled as he slowly made his way past Jefferson, purposefully smacking the human’s arm with one wing as he passed. If the human realized it wasn’t accidental, he didn’t let it on.

“After breakfast. I left a toothbrush and such in the guest bathroom for you as well.” Alexander didn’t like the human’s smooth and prepared response. As he had done the night before, Jefferson rested his hand on the ezfi’s wingbands, shutting the door behind them as he walked Alexander out into the hallway.

He didn’t see Sally, but was able to mostly recognize the space around them. There was the guest bathroom door, another leading to what might have been a den or storage area. At the end of the hallway – wood floors, walls painted in a neutral blue – was a window, the sun shining through it, and to the right was a set of steps.

“Just down there,” Jefferson said, nudging Alexander and prompting him to walk down, not liking the jerks that were delivered to the bases of his wings with each step between them. Once at the bottom of the landing, they turned right, walking through a living room space and into a kitchen, a dining table occupying most of the space not used for counters or or other cooking appliances.

Jefferson patted the back of one chair and released Alexander, who, after a brief moment checking to see if there happened to conveniently be any knives in reach considering they were next to the kitchen, sat down. The chairs were wood, each with a little seat cushion secured to them. His back was against the wall, and despite disliking the thought of being cornered with his wings trapped, he was mainly just relieved when Jefferson released his wingbands and sat down across from him. The human spread his hands, motioning to the small selection laid out before them. It wasn’t a heavy, hot breakfast; just some cereals and fruits. 

Alexander reached out to take a handful of assorted nuts from a little bowl. As he went to throw a few in his mouth, Jefferson chucked under his breath, and the ezfi stopped to glare at him. “What?”

“Going right for the birdseed?”

“It’s  _ your _ food, dumbass, and this is like ¾ cashews anyway.”

Jefferson shook his head, lips still pursed in amusement, before taking an orange and beginning to peel it. “So...did you sleep well?” Alexander gave him a dull look considering the supposed “questionnaire” was apparently going to mostly small talk, and directed at him.

“Yeah, it was great! I had a dream that I was back home and not in this shitty place!” Jefferson pulled away at that, glaring, and snapped back, amusement stripped away.

“Hamilton! I didn’t ask for you to come here! I only knew of your existence yesterday, after you had gone through processing!” Alexander’s eyes widened at the tone, and he shrunk back slightly in his seat. “Look, you’re probably thinking that you can just run up to the first person you meet outside of here and cry out ‘help, help! I was kidnapped!’. But the truth is, no one is going to stop and come to your aide. Tell me, honey, do you know your place here?”

Alexander sputtered, “What is that supposed to mean!?”

Jefferson stood up, shoving his chair back and setting his orange down. “Ezfis like you sold off to auction are around to show status. You are to be quiet and obedient, looking pretty and submissive, holding things and taking notes as necessary, opening doors and doing as you are told!”

“And if you think I’m going to be all of that, then you’re insane!” Alexander snapped back in anger, despite his body language only showing fear. “I don’t know what your  _ expectations  _ are, but I can assure you that I won’t be meeting them.”

Jefferson looked down on him with a scathing look, and Alexander gulped, worry flashing through his mind. Jefferson was strong, for all he knew the man could snap him in half easily. But instead, the human’s expression changed, became unreadable, and he calmly stated, “The transition is difficult. I’ve seen enough ezfis left broken by the actions of their owners to understand that. But I am not asking that you change. I am only telling you what role in society you are expected to fill.” That was a threat if he’d ever heard one.

“Uh, I-I don’t see how those two things are any different from one another, and-” Jefferson held up a hand to silence him.

“I chose you because I read your file and I saw that you were smart, that you had a brain. I didn’t expect you to be so headstrong, but there wasn’t a moment that I was guessing you would be the spineless pushover society is looking for. But you need to realize that from this day onwards, your life will be nothing like how it once was. You don’t need to conform or give in to society, only compromise. I  _ want _ to trust you, and I want  _ you _ to trust  _ me _ .”

Alexander didn’t know how to respond to that, so when Jefferson sat back down, he just took another handful of “assorted nuts” and pointedly looked away.

“On another topic, considering the fact you were looking through all your drawers this morning, you probably noticed that you don’t have any other clothes.” Shit. He hadn’t been as sneaky as he’d thought.

“We’ll be heading out to get you some today once we have your proper measurements. There are other people that would like to meet you, although that can wait until a more...suitable time arises.”

Alexander wasn’t sure if Jefferson had just intentionally made a suit pun or not. The ezfi chose not to comment on it, just picking out some peanuts from the bowl and ignoring the look the human gave him.

He didn’t like Jefferson’s promises of compromise. He was clearly a wealthy man used to getting his way, went so far as to  _ buy _ another person just for “companionship”. And when, after their meal was finished, Jefferson led him back up the stairs, he did so with a hand back between the ezfi’s wings, a gentle reminder of the exact position Alexander was in.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The semester is finally over for me, which means I'm back to posting new chapters and related materials!


	4. Measurement

Alexander did not care for the car ride. Not in the slightest.

After getting ready, Jefferson had walked him to an elevator and then outside. The human had figured out that so long as he kept a firm grip on the ezfi’s wing bands, Alexander was hesitant to yank away from his hand and bolt. He _despised_ the touch, he really did, and was not happy at all that Jefferson had put two and two together. With that in mind, he had been almost relieved when a shiny, silver car had pulled up and Jefferson opened one of the back doors, prompting Alexander to climb inside.

Of course, once that initial expression had passed, he found himself unable to drag his attentions away from the fact that his wings were uncomfortably pressed against the leathery seat backing, awkwardly folded to the side just so that he could even sit down. Oh, the joys of having such a large wingspan. There was a long list of reasons why ezfis tended to _fly_ everywhere, and being squashed into a seat was one of them. The bands limited his range of motion to the extent that even semi-properly folding his wings up nearly wasn’t a possibility, and while he pulled in his legs back from the seat in front of him, he still felt trapped in place.

He almost expected Jefferson to take the opposite seat beside him, but once the human shut the door – Alexander noted uneasily that a lock was reactivated a moment later – he went around to the front.

There was a divider between the front and back seats, although it only partially covered the gap. Alexander ran a fingernail over the material, making a strange clicking noise.

“Alexander, don’t do that,” Jefferson said, leaning back in his seat and stretching out his legs. He was sitting on the passenger side.

The ezfi glared at him, running both hands over the divider.

Jefferson cleared his throat and repeated himself, “Stop. Sit in your seat and buckle in.”

After he made no move to do so, Jefferson just rolled his eyes, pulling his own seatbelt over his chest and clicking it into place. “I’m sure you feel a great sense of vindication,” he noted, drawing one arm up slightly so that he could have access to the band around his wrist, “and if that’s what matters most, then hold onto that feeling, sweetie.”

Alexander straightened up the best he could, crossing his arms in protest. “It’s not like we’re going anywhere, there isn’t a fucking _driver_ in the car and-”

“It’s a self-driving car, honey. It isn’t rocket surgery.”

The ezfi was left sputtering in confusion at the blatant usage of two different sayings at once, a terrible malaphor in his opinion, and that seemed to be enough for Jefferson, as he tapped in the address.

The car started up and pulled away from the building.

Upon further inspection, it didn’t even appear that the car had a steering wheel. That much made enough sense, considering it wasn’t supposed to be manually driven.

It did, however, have a rearview mirror. Probably to allow passengers to see each other, if he had to guess, since there shouldn’t be any reasoning to have one otherwise. Therefore, it just so happened that said mirror was also in the perfect line of sight for Alexander to keep an eye on Jefferson, who was completely zoned out. The man wasn’t even doing anything, just staring out of the window, it seemed.

Alexander glanced out of the windows himself, the surrounding landscape slightly darkened due to them being tinted. Just people, walking about and on their daily businesses. Alexander noted that a disproportionate percentage were human, and he reactively pulled away from the window at the sight of a few ezfis in gauzy and gaudy clothing. They tended to be following behind the more well-dressed humans for the most part, and clearly frills were the “thing” to wear.

Seeing some ezfis just relaxing against street poles in informal wear or leaping into the air over the street – strangely empty and organized, for a city – made him feel a little better. Some people around here were normal, at least.

He drew himself away from the sights. Focus was a necessity, and he had a task at hand: find out if there was anything here to held him or get him out.

He started by moving quietly to pick over the seats, hoping that something had been left behind. He didn’t know if this car belonged to Jefferson, if there was some overarching transportation system in the city, or if it was just a taxi. What it was didn’t matter too much, so long as he could find something left behind. Like a...a credit card, to force against a doorframe and mess up a lock. Did people in this godforsaken futuristic city even _use_ those anymore? Or were there electronic systems, on their armbands or with other chips?

Fine. At this point, he’d take a hairpin. You can’t put one of those on a computer.

After double-checking that Jefferson was still staring out the window with a blank expression, head rested on his hand, Alexander continued his search.

It wasn’t until he had crawled half-under the backseat, wings sticking up and pressed uncomfortably against the passenger seat backing, that Jefferson spoke up.

“Alexander, I can see you in the mirror. Stop acting like a child and sit up normally. You’re not going to find anything of interest back there; I requested that the car’s interior be cleaned just yesterday.”

Alexander stiffened up, cocked his head to the side and craned his neck upwards. He was directly behind the human’s seat, after all – despite the divider, he could clearly see his frizzy hair, how his posture must have been relaxed and leaned back.

The ezfi gritted his teeth. “So? I can still crawl around back here like the animal you clearly think that I am, _can’t I_?”

Jefferson let out a long, slow breath. “Just try to have a little dignity. As you said, if you’d like to behave as an untamed creature would, then I’ll treat you as such.” Alexander could only scowl in response, not liking having his words twisted and thrown right back at him.

He clambered up to sit up in the backseat, sliding into the middle to give his wings a little more room. The car was stopped at a light, and Alexander internally growled at the fact that the doors were very much locked, and how he’d probably slice himself up and bleed out if he tried to kick out a window and jump out.

_Cool it, play it safe. Don’t make too much trouble and he’ll let his guard down_. Alexander let out a long breath. Alright, alright. He was going to stick to his plan. Hell, maybe the dude in the processing facility – Aaron Burr, his name was – had something going for him with his little “Talk less, smile more” notion. After a short wait, the light changed and the car continued on.

“Fine, so. We’re going clothes shopping.” He held his tongue enough to stop himself from mentioning that it was probably going to be some designer, name-brand-only haberdashery. “Do I need to get some weird-as-shit servant’s uniform? I mean, I’m sure that you just gotta exclaim to the whole wide world that you’ve got some little ezfi pet, right? I know how it goes.”

“We’ll see when we get there, but I’m sure we’ll find something suitable for you,” Jefferson responded, and despite his smooth manner of delivery, Alexander could hear the annoyed inflections creeping into his voice.

The car slowed to a stop once more. The front passenger door clicked unlocked, and Jefferson stepped out, stretching his legs. Alexander rolled his eyes at that, sliding over on the backseat to quietly check and see if the driver’s side door was unlocked. It would be the side facing the street, but if it was automatically unlocked after the car parked at a preprogrammed destination, he could make a break for it.

Or, not. A quick yank on the handle proved that trying to run out that way was futile, and the odd brush of his armband against the door reminded him of the tracker installed on it.

Jefferson rapped on the passenger side window. A moment later, the lock unclicked and he heaved open the door. The sounds of the city outside, which had been somewhat muffled in the car, were amplified. “Get out.”

Alexander considered making the human physically drag him out of the car, but there was a small corner of his own mind worrying that Jefferson would just shut the door again and stand there until he made a move.

So instead, he folded his wings and lifted them up over his shoulders enough to comfortably scoot to the side, lazily swinging his legs out of the car and to the curb and pavement.

And in one swift motion, he leaped out. Half a moment into his pitch forwards, Jefferson had him by one wing – thankfully, the uninjured one – leaving him forced to bend over into an awkward position to resist the movement from pulling and tearing his muscles. Jefferson calmly shut the door, the lock reactivating, and his hand moved from the joint to the central bar on Alexander’s wing-bands.

The ezfi clenched his teeth to maintain his silence as he straightened his back, Jefferson having seemingly no reaction to his sudden leap from the vehicle. The human merely motioned to a storefront, the glass windows displaying a group of mannequins dressed in various clothing styles. “We’re going in.” With that, he nudged Alexander forward, the sort of touch that promised a false sense of gentleness with cooperation.

The doors were automatic. They opened as the two stepped inside, a rush of cool air-conditioning leaving Alexander’s hair swirling around his shoulders. While Jefferson had provided a single hairbrush for his use, that had been all. Alexander wasn’t sure if that was because he didn’t have hair ties and other products on hand – not having thought to buy some before he met his ezfi – or because he didn’t trust said new ezfi with them.

Hey, as he had established earlier: he’d take even a hairpin.

Vision adjusting to the light of the interior, Alexander took the opportunity to look around. The shop wasn’t too large, a mixture of outfits and materials up for sale.

The front half of the shop appeared to be largely dedicated to the former. Racks with everything ranging from formal suit attire to skimpier outfits that made Alexander grimace – akin to the ones he’d seen outside earlier – were arranged up against the windows, offering a selection of already-made items. Everything seemed just _slightly_ too close together, as though the owner was attempting to cram in as many options as possible under the pretense that surely a potential client may find at least one interesting. Or perhaps, that was just the view of an ezfi, who preferred having a little more space.

Jefferson urged him to walk forward, and Alexander did so, albeit dragging his feet and brushing his wingtips on the floor. Past the crowded clothing racks, the shop seemed to open up that much more. There were twin booths to their left, curtains pulled open to reveal changing rooms. To their right was a counter, a storage entrance behind it. There was the register, and then an extension, books clipped into place open to show various styles and designs that could be sewn on request.

A little bell was set by the register, with a “ring for assistance” sign next to it. Jefferson impatiently slammed his fist onto it, and it gave a pitiful _ding_ in response. A male’s voice called out from behind them, exclaiming that he would be there to help them in just a moment. In the meantime, Alexander turned his gaze further around the shop, hoping that there would be something he could discreetly swipe and use later.

The back right corner seemed to be taken up in bulk by material racks. Laces, fabrics, and plastic pouches of buttons were carefully organized into place. Zippers of a number of lengths and colors hung down off of thin tubes, patches of various designs organized beside them. Alexander tipped his head as he stared down a length of colorful yarn.

Maybe he could strangle Jeffershit with a length of thread from the bobbins they were selling.

His thoughts were interrupted when a man walked over, the source of the voice from earlier. Alexander turned to face him, and while Jefferson’s grip stiffened, the human didn’t disallow the motion.

The ezfi was taller than Alexander – to the point that if it weren’t for his wings, Alexander would have found it difficult to believe that he was an ezfi at all. He stood with a poise that betrayed his thoughts, polite for the customer, personally uninvested. “Sorry for the wait, sir, what is it you’re looking for today?” He clasped his hands behind his back, and with his muscled figure and half-spread wings, Alexander felt almost intimidated.

This was not the sort of guy he was expecting to find working in a little shop like this.

“I recently purchased an ezfi and would like to go about setting up his proper wardrobe.” Jefferson responded, a cool touch to his gaze. Alexander made a face, a foul taste in his mouth in recognition of that expression.

No wonder Jefferson was talked about. Alexander wasn’t sure if it was the male’s status as a store worker or as an ezfi that warranted such treatment, but he wasn’t quite sure which outcome he would rather prefer.

The male dipped his head. “Of course, sir. As I am sure you are working on a very busy schedule-”

“That I am,” Jefferson snapped in interruption.

Without missing a beat, the male continued, “-so I’ll do everything in my power to make this a quick and pleasant experience for the both of you. If you would care to flip through the books here or look through the racks at the front of the store, I can begin taking measurements on your ezfi so that you know his proper sizes.”

Alexander bristled at the term. He was no one’s goddamn ezfi, but the male clearly was only concerned with speaking to the human. Jefferson’s expression must have communicated his distrust with letting Alexander go – either that, or his position, fingers still wrapped about the bar – because the male added, “If you would like to begin by trying on outfits that interest you and make adjustments later, then that is quite alright. Otherwise,” he motioned to the back-left corner of the shop, and over his wings Alexander could see an indented alcove with mirrors and a stand, curtain pulled back, “my name is Hercules Mulligan, and I’ll be happy to work with you today.”

Jefferson relented. “Measurements first. Lead the way.” Alexander wasn’t quite sure if Hercules’ small grunt as he turned to walk was that of true anger at the human’s behavior, but he followed along, Jefferson behind him.

With the ezfi walking in front of them, Alexander could see his wings dipping and bouncing slightly with each step. He didn’t appear to be wearing any bands whatsoever, and his feathers were well-kept and grown out, centimeters away from dragging on the floor. What held his attention with Hercules’ wings themselves was their pattern unlike any Alexander had seen before, even in media. They were a blue that suggested an exotic heritage, or some strange combination of genes, starting black near the tops and bases, then changing to blue and finally to a pale cream the further outwards one looked. The mixtures of the colors were not harsh; rather, there were small specks of mixed shades where they blended together.

Hercules motioned Alexander into the alcove, looking to Jefferson when the human refrained from dropping his grip. “I can take care of things from here, sir, if you’d like to begin looking around.”

Finally, _finally_ , the human seemed to get the idea.

Hm. Jefferson appeared the one to let his ideals blind him to reality. He was caught on the fact that he needed to hold onto Alexander, which kept him from noticing the bigger picture.

_Interesting._

He left Alexander with a harsh expression, one clearly meant to chill the ezfi down to his core, but really only made him seethe with further anger. “Be good _, sweetness_.”

Very maturely, Alexander narrowed his eyes, locked his gaze to the humans, and stuck out his tongue.

“Just behave, Alexander,” Jefferson said, and then he whirled on one foot and stalked off, likely to poke through the clothing racks. Alexander looked through between the human’s pathway and the door, considering whether or not it was worth attempting to make a break for it.  
“Armband location services are hard to mess with unless you’ve got the proper tools,” Hercules supplied, voice low enough that Jefferson wouldn’t hear, and Alexander snapped his head around to face him. “Trust me, you wouldn’t be the first one in my shop to think about running off...or murdering your owner.”

Alexander’s shoulders sagged and his wings drooped. “Is it really so obvious that I’m thinking about all the ways that I can strangle the dude with the frills on some of this ridiculous shit?”

And then Hercules actually laughed, loud and booming and encompassing enough that Alexander was surprised they didn’t draw Jefferson’s attention, and he realized one thing: for all of his good manners and polite actions, Hercules was on _Alexander’s_ side.

The alcove had a curtain bar around it, and Hercules drew it most of the way across. Far enough to conceal them from Jefferson and somewhat muffle their voices, but pulled back to the extent that the human wouldn’t question anything.

“Uh, just checking, but you...you _aren’t_ owned by anyone, right? Like this place’s manager, or anything,” Alexander tentatively asked.

Hercules chuckled and shook his head. “Nah, I’m a born and bred New Yorker, free as they get!” He winked. “And technically, I’m only apprenticing at this shop, but in reality? I practically run it. _No one_ knows ezfi fashion better than me! This place’s run by a little old lady who’s more than happy to put all her trust in me and a couple other employees. Great woman, makes us cookies sometimes.” He took a half-step to the side, pulling open the side drawer of a low-set table. After swiping a tape measure from the drawer, he moved back to face Alexander, stretching out one wing to slide the drawer closed.

“Oh, that’s...that’s pretty nice of her,” Alexander responded, turning slightly on his feet to keep Hercules facing his front. The other ezfi seemed to pick up on this, motioning for him to stop as he drew the tape out.

“Yeah, plenty of worse employers to work with,” Hercules said, voice smooth and lacking in inflections. Alexander furrowed his brow, rising to take the bait.

“What do you mean by that?”

“One of my pals works for your owner, does technical drawings ‘n stuff,” Hercules answered. “Lift your head up a bit if you can; I need to get your neck measurement.”

Alexander tilted his head slightly, adjusting it per Hercules’ instructions, and the male wrapped the tape around his neck. Alexander gulped, the feeling of something tight around his neck a little strange. “Of fucking course he does. I’ve been warned about how shitty the guy is already, it figures he’d be the one I’m stuck with, huh?”

The other ezfi leaned in, checking the numbers, and then pulled it away, recording them on his armband. “Life has a funny way of working out. Can I get your chest next? Raise up your arms a little bit and breathe out.”

“What’s _that_ supposed to mean? That Jefferson’s secretly some peace-loving hippie?” Alexander spat. A night and day of putting up with the human’s crap was enough to tell him all that he needed to know.

Hercules waited for him to relax somewhat before wrapping the tape around his chest, over his wings, and under his arms. “No, just that your life worked out shitty.”

“ _Wow_ , thanks,” was all Alexander could manage out after that. He let out a huff of pure frustration, gaze turning to his reflection on one of the many mirrors encircling the alcove.

Those bruises were really starting to show now, weren’t they? Were any of them from his fight with Jefferson? And the cut over his cheek – it was scabbed over, but would almost certainly go to scar. He was still in those drab clothes from last night, although considering some of the selection here, he really wouldn’t mind staying in them. Focus slowly dropping to the floor, he sighed and managed out, “What’s the deal with Jefferson? All I know about him is that’s he’s in the tech industry, apparently making bank. And clearly uses this to justify his asshole-ish behavior.”

Hercules shrugged, stooping down to take his waist measurements. A bit more of a challenge, for someone taller. “You’ve got half of the situation spot on. See, he’s not just some big businessman – he’s also a council member, secretary of something or another. Right up there with the city leaders, making decisions, controlling things. Right up there working with the top of the top.”

Oh, this just kept getting better and better. “You know what? Of course he is.” Of all the conceited, bigoted dipshits that had to buy him. “Of fucking course.”

The other ezfi could only respond to him with a sad expression that conveyed his understanding clearly enough, even if he would never hope to find himself in Alexander’s current position.

“Alexander, right? Look, dude, I’ll be honest with you – I know the guy from a business perspective, from the view of a normal guy looking up at the leaders and politicians. Some of them are great people, are really right there with us. Maybe Jefferson’ll have a soft spot for ya.” Hercules gave him a smack on the back, above his wings, between his shoulders. Friendly, a gesture from one ezfi to another, and then he was back to measurements.

Alexander couldn’t let the action distract him. He clenched his fists and said, “He walks me around like a prisoner and locks me in a little room when he doesn’t feel like looking at me. I think we’ve established how this shit’s gonna go plenty well, by now!”

Hercules’ motions stilled and he glanced down at Alexander before returning to the tape, taking note of the number, and typing it in. Then, he tapped a button and swiped his palm over the touchscreen. Alexander crossed his arms, blowing a few unruly strands of hair away from his face. Hercules didn’t say much in response, just sliding the pad of his index finger over the screen until he had pulled something up. Was he just not going to respond?

The silence was just on the verge of becoming uncomfortable when the other ezfi finally spoke up again. “Hey, listen.”

“...I am?”

Hercules waved his hands, shaking his head. “Just, hear me out. Look, I’ve seen a lot of ezfis go through…” his spread his wings and tilted his chin up, “ _this_. Because this little shop is part of a whole chain used for guys like you to be turned into pretty little decorations that are good for holding things and kissing up to their owners. And all of that? Is absolute horse shit.”

“I figured that out on my own. Your point?” Alexander asked.

“My _point_ is that…” He trailed off, seeming to mull over his words, and Alexander gritted his teeth.

“Just say what you’re gonna say, or don’t say it at all.”

Hercules seemed to make up his mind at that and met his gaze, eyes suddenly firm, unafraid. “What I mean to say is that not everyone you meet is against you, or me. You got dealt a bad hand, that’s how it goes.”

“And who exactly are you talking ‘bout? ‘Cause it seems like you’re the only one who cares at all in this damn place.” Alexander asked him, one eyebrow raised.

“Uh, a pal of mine. ‘Nother guy, not the one who works for Jefferson, but a council member all the same. He’s a human, goes by Lafayette. Looks pretty similar to your owner, actually, but his job description is less...industrious, and more...well, you’ll get a feel for him when you see him. Mention in passing you had me as your tailor, see what you get from that.” Alexander didn’t miss the way the other ezfi shifted on his feet, folded up his wings, glanced to the side with a shifty look to check that Jefferson wasn’t just beyond the alcove and leaning in.

_This had better not be some cult initiation thing_ , Alexander dryly thought to himself, eyes narrowed. _Why would he want to help_ me _, of all people?_ There was something about the way that Hercules was left ever-so-subtly nervous and concerned that made him suspicious, as though he were hiding something. Still, though…the name “Lafayette” was familiar, even if he couldn’t place where he’d heard it before. “What-”

He was interrupted with a metallic _shing_ as the curtain was yanked back and to the side, and he was certain that his expression was solidly a deer-in-the-headlights look as he jumped and whirled around. There stood Jefferson, holding a few outfits in one hand, carefully kept from touching the ground and being dirtied. And with that, Hercules was back to being calm, professional, and above it all as Jefferson spoke. “I believe that these have fine potential to start off with some adjustments on. I also need his measurements so that I can get his sizing and order up casual clothes, undergarments, the little things like that.”

The ass wouldn’t even let him choose his own clothing, would he? He had to stifle a yelp as Jefferson stepped forward, shoving the hangers into his hands. “Well, honey? Let’s see how these look on you.”

Alexander flushed in anger and embarrassment at the pet name in such a context, opening his mouth to protest in anger when Jefferson suddenly put out a hand, holding up one finger in a motion telling Alexander to wait. Expression darkening, Alexander started to say, “There is no way I’m waiting on your dumbass self-!” when the human turned away, reaching his free hand up to his ear and lightly brushing back some of his tight curls to reveal a slim, dark device.

An earpiece. For communication? “I need to take this, you go get yourself all squared away, darlin’,” Jefferson waved, stepping off. Alexander looked after him, expression torn between curiosity and annoyance, and the human was already focused on his new task, talking away. “Mr. Washington, sir- yes, of course sir, I’ve just been slightly preoccupied today, of course I’ll come in and- I’ll explain everything sir, but this really is an in-person sort of thing, and honestly it’s a bad time for me. Yes, I know that I said we could make plans, but are you sure that today…”

His voice trailed off as he walked to a far corner of the shop, and Alexander’s brow furrowed as he thought. There was something about it…

Wait. Talking on the earpiece. Jefferson had been talking to someone the other day, right after Alexander first woke up in the sunroom. _Scheduling a lunch with Lafayette and whoever had called him_.

Hercules took two of the outfits and hooked them on holders secured to the wall between two mirrors. One was more suit-like, although it still managed to maintain that frilly, lacy look that seemed frequented by owned ezfis, at least in his experience. If the first was accented by it, the second embraced it, and the one Alexander was holding at the moment would only generously be called decent, a strange amalgamation of the other two, in his opinion. Finally, Hercules patted Alexander’s shoulder. “I’ll finish up with the measurements in a minute. Go ahead and get into one of those. Curtain’s here for privacy, I’ll straighten up some shelves for a couple minutes. No one else is in the shop right now, we’re never busy at this time of day.”

Alexander nodded, but his fingers gripped the gaudy fabric so tightly his knuckles began to turn white.

_Just play along. Figure out who the hell Lafayette is and see what he can do. Pretend that you’re not as dangerous as you are, don’t let them know what you’re against and what you’re for._

_Talk less, smile more._

He could do it. He had to make things work for long enough to get what and where he needed, even if it meant sacrificing and...what had Jefferson said earlier that day? _Compromising._ He could give a little, so long as he got more than he gave and ended in the same spot.

He yanked the curtain along its rail and prepared to dress himself in one of the showy, frilly outfits Jefferson had picked out for him.

Yup, it was official.

He was going to strangle the bastard with some of this lace.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We're 19,000 words in and the plot hasn't even really started rolling, what the heck. Welp. It's tagged slow burn for a reason.
> 
> These guys have got a long way to go.


	5. Conversation

 

Alexander stared down Jefferson with a look that could peel paint off a car when the human happily applauded the outfits he’d chosen, proclaiming that while they needed a few adjustments the style was perfect. But of _course_ , because _he_ was the one who chose them in the first place.

“They make me look like I’m a fucking showpony,” Alexander growled as Hercules carefully set the last, frilly choice back onto its holder. He pulled at the hem of his shirt, feeling exposed and not liking the look that Jefferson gave him. “And if you think I’ll wear any of them, you’re insane.”

“You tried them on, didn’t you? You listed to me then, you’ll do it again,” Jefferson responded, voice clipped and haughty before he turned to Hercules. “Oi, ezfi, how quickly can we make adjustments on these?”

Hercules’ eye twitched, but then he turned away, and Alexander was sure it was to hide his annoyance from Jefferson. “It depends on which you would like done first. He’s about average size for an ezfi, so only minor changes would be beneficial to conform to his body type. The more complex, complete outfits will require longer.”

Jefferson bit at the corner of his bottom lip. “I can’t have him looking like this.” Alexander bristled, his wings twitching and causing the once-again-pulled-back curtain rimming the alcove to sway slightly. There wasn’t a fucking thing wrong with his appearance, and while poorly-sized, plain clothing could be an annoyance, it didn’t matter in the long run. “Send me his measurements right away so I can place a clothing order. And...do whatever you need to with those three outfits.”

Hercules remained facing away, busying himself with the hangers and smoothing out the wrinkles. “Of course. You should receive a message with the requested information, bill, and available time slots to make any final requests and changes after the outfits have undergone preliminary refittings based on specifications.”

Jefferson sharply nodded his head, seeming satisfied as he swiped the pads of his fingers over his armband. “My information was shared with the store system.”

There was a pause before Hercules nodded his head in confirmation, tagging the hangers. “Alright, now if there’s anything-”

With a noncommittal swipe of the hand, Jefferson blew him off. “We’re already running late, don’t try to sell me up anything else, ezfi.” Brow furrowed, Alexander stared up at Jefferson.

Well, that answered his question well enough. So it was because Hercules was an ezfi that Jefferson was so...harsh. He clenched his fist. That supported why Burr had been so insistent, so specific for him in the first place. Jefferson had _something_ against ezfis. He jerked, sucking in a breath between his teeth when Jefferson’s hand returned to his wingbands. “Time to go. I’ll have a worker make room in my schedule for a time slot.”

“Alright. Thank you for your time, _sir_ ,” Hercules answered, and this time, his annoyance was thinly veiled. Jefferson grit his teeth, squeezed tighter around Alexander’s band, but didn’t lash out in response.

“Of course.”

* * *

 

Back in the car, Alexander reclaimed his spot in the back while Jefferson sat in the front. Alexander crossed his arms, folding his wings sideways to the curve of his spine so that he could lean back against the seat. Tilting his head up, he could once again examine Jefferson in the rearview mirror.

The human sighed, shoulders sagging, before reaching up to run a hand through his hair. There was a pause, and then his eyes glanced downwards – likely to his armband – and he turned his head enough to rest his cheek against the headrest. His eyes weren’t shut, but they were half-lidded, unfocused.

He almost looked tired.

Hah. Well, that sucked for him. Alexander raised one hand and rapped it against the back of the headrest, causing Jefferson to snap his head up and turn around to look at him. “ _What?_ ” the human growled out, annoyed.

Alexander raised his hands in innocence. “Well, you looked a little sleepy. And, you know, it’s as dangerous to be falling asleep behind the wheel as it is to drive intoxicated.”

“I’m not tired, and I’m not drunk, either, thanks,” Jefferson responded. “Although I’ll admit I’m a little stressed, mostly because you’re so...difficult!”

“Difficult!?” Alexander snapped back. “You try being...being dragged a thousand miles away from home and being told you need to forget who you were and become a fancy, prancy servant! To act like a mindless animal when you’re just as much of a person as the asshat who can’t see that, in some weird futuristic city.”

Jefferson turned his head away, leaned forward just enough that Alexander couldn’t see his face any longer as he let out a thoughtful humm. “I suppose New York _is_ one of the leading cities in industry and technology. It’s how I built my company.” The human had focused on just the wrong part of Alexander’s words, ignoring the point to zero in on a completely different picture. He continued on, filling the space of the car with his words, going on a tangent. “But I’d just imagine that’s part of the charm! A city filled with the impossible that just isn’t there elsewhere in the world. A dozen times better than your old home, right? Surely a little third-world beach isn’t nearly so advanced, living in the past. No experience with a self-driving car, huh, darlin’?”

That was the wrong thing to say, insulting his home. The man clearly had no idea where he hailed from, who he was – an incredible, capable trader, a writer, a person with a life and family that he had been ripped away from. “You don’t even know _or_ give a shit where I’m from!” Alexander shouted in response, making Jefferson wince – although the ezfi doubted it was from his words, merely from the volume. “But sure, I’ll admit – I’m _not_ used to these cars. I wonder why? _Oh_ , maybe because I’m an ezfi, so I tend to _fly_ where I need to go instead of inching through city traffic.” His wings twitched in anger against the seat backing, feeling constricted.

Jefferson let out a groan of frustration. “I get it, the traffic sucks. It’s New York City, of course it does.” Once again, he had managed to ignore the fundamental meat of Alexander’s retort. “But it gives us time to talk.”

“About _what_!?”

“ _Well_ ,” Jefferson snapped back, “Normally I would make small-talk, but clearly you’re not interested in that, so how about we discuss what’s going to happen today.”

Alexander crossed his arms, levelling his gaze. His wings shifted slightly, and he refolded them, disliking the way they dragged over the seat. Tonight, before he went to sleep, he’d have to go through and preen them. “Oh?”

“Look, I don’t know if you heard me chatting. You’re smart, though, I’ll give you that – so I can only assume you did. As I was saying then, we’re going to head out to a pleasant little restaurant uptown. There are two humans there that you are going to meet. After that, we’ll head back to my apartment. I’m going to order some more clothing for you, and at some point you can take another shower, we’ll eat dinner, all that.”

The mention of eating left Alexander realizing how hungry he was – he’d hardly had anything for breakfast, after all – but he pushed those thoughts aside and said, “First those stupid frilly things, and now you’re going to control what t-shirts I wear? Or, wait, I doubt you would let me wear something so casual, so maybe a collected vest and button-down shirt?” His voice was dripping with mocking inflections, and Jefferson let out a loud sigh accompanied by a _thump_ as his head fell back against the headrest.

“You know what? I said we needed to compromise, and I’m sticking to it. I chose three things for you to wear, so you can choose three things too. Get whatever weird t-shirt you like.”

Alexander blinked, not having expected the human to bend so easily. Maybe it _was_ a good idea to reason with him when he was in this sort of state. Looking up into the mirror, he saw the way the human’s eyes fluttered shut. He almost looked...soft, giving an opening for Alexander.

Jefferson didn’t have much more to say, only managing out, “Well, we’re here. So...just…” he took a deep breath, and from such an angle, Alexander was barely able to make out the way his expression hardened, “For your own good, keep your mouth shut. There are some...more important humans that you’re going to be introduced to, and if you’ve got a brain like you claim, don’t go pissing them off.” He was quiet, for a few moments, before tentatively adding, “Please.”

Alexander bit the inside of his cheek, eyes narrowed. Manipulative, much? “Can’t be any worse than you.” He reached out to prop himself against the car door, finding hard and unrelenting against his arm. Despite the discomfort, he leaned his weight on it. Jefferson clearly didn’t like his response, but then the car had stopped, and the human clambered out once more. Alexander watched as he made a poor attempt at calming himself down and smoothing out his shirt.

As he had done before, Jefferson opened up the door, and Alexander was hit with the absurdity of it all. He certainly wasn’t a stranger to the ezfi trade, even if it was only a tiny percentage that were owned. And he knew for a fact that _Alexander_ was the one expected to be jumping out to help his owner out of a car. He snorted, liking that thought.

Truthfully, he found himself with a tiny bit of satisfaction for making Jefferson feel the need to do that. And this time, when he climbed out, he didn’t try to leap from the car; he simply swung out his legs and stood. Jefferson’s brow furrowed almost imperceptibly, but as was becoming normal, he just wrapped his thin fingers around Alexander’s wingband – prompting a shudder of discomfort – and led him forward.

The outside of the restaurant was decorated, appearing fairly plain. He noticed the distinct lack of any tables or even a specials board sitting outside, as the entrance was right up against the side of the road, with only a short strip of sidewalk in front of it.

Jefferson waltzed right up as though he’d been there a hundred times before, and Alexander tensed his wings as he was forced forward. That only made the slight bob of Jefferson’s grip on his bands more noticeable, and he bit his lip to maintain his silence. If he wasn’t talking right then, then he wasn’t going to fill the silence with small hisses and grunts. Looking closer, he noticed little strings of lights over the top of the main door, windows on either side. In a sharp contrast to the sun of the streets, the interior was darker, and he was having difficulty making out all the details inside from where they stood.

He had assumed that they were just going to head right on inside, passing by the two standing by the door – a human and an ezfi. They were likely just ushers, or employees standing outside for a break. But instead, Jefferson guided him over towards them, and Alexander shot him a confused look that the human hardly seemed to register before allowing his gaze to return to the two outside.

The ezfi was about Alexander’s height, although the way he stood seemed...defensive. His wings were only half-spread, but they were held high and apart, feathers fluffed up. It made him appear bigger than he was, buzzing with energy, his expression snarky and laughing along with whatever the man beside him was saying.

Alexander’s eyes narrowed in confusion as he looked over the ezfi, trying to piece together where he’d seen him before. Then, the ezfi adjusted his stance, fluttered his wings, and it clicked: he had been flying past his window just that morning. But, surely he wasn’t owned by the human, was he? Considering the clothing that Jefferson had made him try on earlier, he was dressed incredibly...relaxed for such a position. A dark grey hoodie – despite the heat – and jeans, beaten and worn sneakers on his feet. Alexander knew plenty about how “owned” ezfis were expected to act; that certainly wasn’t it. Just a random city worker? At the very least, not one for the restaurant in question, considering it appeared to be somewhat more...refined.

The ezfi’s eyes met his, and they were dark, but shining bright. Alexander flushed and looked away, gaze slipping over to the human instead. The human beside him was taller, having several inches on the both of them. That wasn’t unexpected; the average ezfi stood noticeably below the average human. No, what was surprising was how alike he looked to Jefferson. He had such a similar build and structure, although there were distinctions. A younger face, hair tightly pulled back, appearing less lanky but rather as though he was hiding muscle underneath his light, button-down shirt. Calm, collected, eyes hunting for something that only he could see.

“Gil!” Jefferson shouted, but it wasn’t as a command or out of anger. Instead, he pushed Alexander forward, nearly leading him to trip against the other ezfi and fall close enough he could see the freckles across the other’s face, before dropping his grip and throwing his arms around the human in a hug. “Glad to see that you could make it!”

Alexander stumbled to regain his footing, giving a quiet apology to the ezfi he’d nearly run into as the other human – Gil – said, “Hah, Thomas! Wonderful to see you too!” His voice was thick with an accent, but for all their similarities, it was harshly unlike Jefferson’s, foreign; not quite pronouncing the “s” in “Thomas”. French? It seemed likely, although he went along with Jefferson’s hug, instead of bisous. And then, he leaned down to Alexander’s height, palms propped on his thighs as his mouth was split wide into a grin. “And- and you finally did it! You finally found someone! An ezfi.”

Alexander turned his lips upward into a snarl, bracing himself. “I’m _not_ his... _property_ , and if you think he deserves congratulations for bothering to show up to an auction-” He let out a pained grunt as Jefferson yanked him back by his shirt, fingers beneath his chin snapping his mouth shut. At least he had the mind not to grab him by his wings.

“Hush! I told you to do _one thing_ , can’t you even listen-”

“Hey, cut it out!” The ezfi cried out, wings spread, face looking up as he snapped and interrupted Jefferson.

That seemed to be enough to draw Jefferson’s attention away from Alexander, because then the human turned his gaze down to the ezfi. “Excuse me? Who are _you_?”

The ezfi clenched his fist. “What’s it matter to you!? Don’t like it when someone points out it’s against the law to beat your ezfi?” Alexander’s eyes widened as they met the ezfi’s own, finding himself mouthing a soft _thank you_. Jefferson had yet to really use violence against him, any more than was necessary for self-defense or to push Alexander where he needed to go, but the human clearly had the potential to hurt him if he really wanted to.

Alexander just hoped that he had enough brains – and empathy – not to do so.

Jefferson’s eyes widened, his mouth was open in disgust and offense as he prepared to snap at the ezfi before Gil intervened. “Thomas, let it go. Don’t dignify every schoolyard taunt with a response.” He turned to the ezfi. “And I am sorry that our meeting was cut short. Another time, right, John?” He stuck out his hand, palm down.

John shot one final glare back up at Jefferson, a warning clear in his eyes, and then he took Gil’s hand and shook it with his right. Alexander tipped his head in confusion, having not had expected that sort of goodbye between them.

With that, the ezfi whirled around, wings spread to fly – they were striped, jumping between dark grey and white – and their bases were blood red. His hair was pulled back, curly and messy, tousled from the breeze, and when he spoke, it was uncaring and flat, a barely-restrained snarl evident. “See ya.” As he broke into a sprint, wings held open to the wind, Alexander caught a glimpse of a tiny slip of paper in his right palm. And then, he was flapping, and lept into the air and was gone.

_Why would they exchange a slip of paper? Were their communications being monitored?_

Jefferson’s expression betrayed his anger, but then Gil set his hand on the other’s shoulder, and he seemed to soften somewhat. “So, uh, Gilbert, is Washington here yet, or…?”

“Let’s go inside,” he responded, smoothly, and Jefferson let out a frustrated groan. “They should be ready for our reservation, _non_? We can discuss things then.”

“Alright,” Jefferson sighed, replacing his hand on Alexander. Together, they walked inside. Gilbert confirmed the registration with a human working at the front and an ezfi waitress led them to their table, asking for their drinks.

The restaurant itself seemed to be nothing particularly special. Fanciful, but not specifically high-class. The lighting gave off a golden glow, and the tables were clean, daily specials on display in their centers.

Jefferson ordered sweet tea, and Gilbert lemonade. Alexander was going to order fruit juice, and Jefferson spoke over him and told the waitress to get him a glass of water instead. Afterwards, she passed out menus, telling them with a bounce in her tone that she would return for their orders in a few minutes.

Alexander gripped at the tablecloth and tapped his fingers on the menu lamination. For all of the technology used in this city, it felt almost silly that there weren’t automated kiosks at the tables. Instead, it was the same plastic, sticky booklets, and of all the things to be so trapped in the past, it was almost ironic that it was something as simple as that, considering how he’d already seen Jefferson pay using his armband. The human in question sat down directly to his left at their round table, one empty seat to his right, with Gilbert taking the final seat.

“Washington” was the last person they were waiting for. Thomas Jefferson, Gilbert...something, and then Washington? There was supposed to be a Lafayette here. That was who he was supposed to be keeping a lookout for, so who was he!?

Jefferson had adjusted his chair so that he was facing more towards Alexander than towards Gilbert, but when he began to speak, it was directed towards the other human. “We’ve settled in. Mind sharing some information on Washington, now?”

Gilbert adjusted his position, leaning forward on his elbows. “Of course.” He smiled, eyes filled with a friendly teasing. “As far as I am aware, he is running late, and I have not pursued the situation further.”

Jefferson let out a loud sigh, pinching the bridge of his nose. “I see.”

“I can watch your ezfi, if you would like to step out and try to call him? You know that he never responds to messages when you need him to.” Jefferson looked over to Alexander, suspicion clouding his eyes, but he finally nodded and stood, looking down at Alexander.

“Try not to cause any issues,” he said, tone even but voice low before he turned, stepping away from the table and narrowly avoiding a human waiter, slipping back outside. As he walked off, he tapped at his armband, likely starting a call.

Alexander allowed his gaze to slowly drift upwards to Gil, keeping his head turned down so that it would appear as though he were looking at his menu. He seemed focused enough, mulling over the various meal choices.

He wasn’t sure what sort of relation there was between him and Jefferson. They certainly looked similar enough, and seemed to be on fine terms – either that, or Gilbert was in a position of power that Jefferson didn’t wish to argue with, especially considering the way the human had demanded he hush in the presence of the humans that would be attending their little lunch meeting. However, they seemed to be too familiar with each other that it was only a question of rank. Cousins, maybe? Or even brothers?

That then posed the question: why had Gilbert passed off that little slip of paper? What purpose would there be for such an interaction, all hidden in plain sight?

His frown deepened. And then, who was Lafayette? Was it a codeword for the human he was supposedly after? Or…another name? A last name?

Gilbert was clearly up to something. Was he Lafayette, or at least involved with the man?

It was said human’s words that pulled him out of his thoughts, a gentle and relaxed smile flitting over his features. “You have been staring at me through your eyelashes for some time now, are you alright?”

Shit. He hadn’t meant for the guy to realize that. Still, this could be an opportunity to ask him, try to find out if this was who he was looking for, or an associate.

Gilbert’s smile faded slightly as he said, “Sorry, did you not understand? My English is not always perfect…”

Ah. So he _wasn’t_ a native English speaker, it sounded like. French, if he had to make a guess, considering his analysis of the man’s accent earlier. Perfect. Alexander straightened up, nodded and cocked his head to the side, a smile over his lips. Luck was on his side – he happened to have a couple languages under his belt. “Non, non, j’ai compris!” He needed to show that he understood fine.

Gilbert’s eyes widened, and that growing discontent seemed quelled for the moment. “Ah! Tu parle français?” Alexander noted that the human was speaking informally, and opted to do the same.

“Oui, je parle français couramment.” He considered himself a fluent speaker, after all. But he didn’t have time to play with a simple conversation. He turned his head to look back towards the doorway, breathing out a sigh of relief as he saw that Jefferson was still outside, calling “Washington.” It was a bet on how long that would take, and not something he wanted to risk. Turning back to Gilbert, he asked, a hint of worry in his voice, “Ah...et, es-tu Lafayette?” He needed to know if this was who he was looking for.

The human’s features lit up and he nodded. “C’est moi!”

A weight lifted off of his shoulders. This was it. This was who Hercules had instructed him to look for. “Oh, thank dieu. Uh, listen, il y avait an...an ezfi. Il s'appelle Hercules, and he told me to...to talk to you.” His mixture of languages probably sounded horrifying, but in his nervousness it was difficult to confine himself to one or the other.

Lafayette’s eyes widened and he readjusted the way his arms were folded across the tablecloth. “I see.” The human’s gaze flitted upwards, focusing on something behind Alexander.

He frowned nervously. “...Well?”

“Washington will be here in just a few minutes,” Jefferson loudly stated as he sat back down. Alexander jerked in surprise, not having had expected the sudden intrusion. He should have noticed Jefferson coming back, and instead he was too focused on Lafayette! Sure, he’d found out that the man was who he was looking for, but he’d spent too much time in his thoughts, had wasted his chance!

“That is very good news, Thomas,” Lafayette hummed pleasantly. “And your ezfi caused me no trouble, although it’s quite a shame, you know.”

Jefferson looked back in confusion. “No…?”

“Well, it is just that I haven’t even gotten to learn his name yet! He is not quite as talkative an ezfi as I might have imagined you choosing to buy.”

“Eh…” Jefferson grimaced in denial of those words, appearing to consider his options before saying, “His name is Alex.”

“Alex _ander_ ,” he found himself correcting once more. Lafayette nodded in acceptance of the change.

Jefferson, on the other hand, gave him a narrow-eyed glare. There was a tense pause, and then he hissed out, “ _Alexander_ , I told you not to speak.”

“And for what fucking reason in the goddamn universe do you have for making me shut up?” He growled back, fingers twisting into the tablecloth. “At least Laf here had a conversation with me while you were out whining to whomever about timing!”

Jefferson tipped his head up, and Alexander gulped, shuffling his wings. “I don’t need a reason, if I tell you to do something, then you’re not supposed to ask questions and just-”

Lafayette intervened, snapping at Jefferson. “Thomas, you told me that you wanted an ezfi that was a companion and not just a servant. And what you are doing right now? Is forcing him into the mindset of a servant when he has made it abundantly clear that he is scared, resistive, and having to deal with you acting like a monster of a human being. He lashes back at you because you are not treating him fairly.”

“Gil, that is not true, I am-!”

“No, you are not. Now, sit back in your chair and accept at least the name that he wishes to call himself by. Don’t try to test me, you hear?” Alexander recognized that tone of voice very well: that of a frustrated teacher shushing a class of unruly students.

Jefferson appeared to be shocked by that, leaning back and stumbling out quiet apologies, and Alexander just laughed under his breath. _So, Hercules clearly wasn’t lying_. _Laf’s on our side_.

* * *

 

Jefferson remained quieter than before after Lafayette’s outburst. In the absence of his voice to fill the conversation, Lafayette instead tried to explain his own career to Alexander.

“See, the ezfis that are brought to the city come from all sorts of places and could be any sort of person. It’s my job to talk to the ones who are doctors, engineers, or even just incredibly bright children and help them adjust to their new lives. After all, every immigrant had a life before New York, aren’t I correct?”

Jefferson mumbled out a “sure.” Lafayette sent him an unamused glance before continuing on.

“Well, it’s my job to...you can say, adjust...ezfis living in the city. I explain the situation, set them up with career and educational prospects, help them relax into a new life. I help them find where their family members went, if they were taken to the same city. Things such as that.”

Alexander nodded, and Jefferson looked over him curiously, the ezfi pulling his wings closer to himself in discomfort. What was Jefferson searching for? Some reaction to whatever Lafayette said? He had kept his expression smooth, or at least so he hoped, so the human couldn’t be trawling much from that.

Their conversation continued on, Jefferson finally cutting in more as it turned to other topics, mainly small-talk. The human was surprisingly invested in ecology, it seemed, as Jefferson went off about the latest chestnut experiments and their resistance to the chestnut blight. However, he kept a close eye on Alexander, looking over his expression and body language.

The ezfi found himself locking eyes with Gilbert instead, and while Jefferson had his focus on Alexander, the other human jerked his head over to the side and glanced away – a suggestion?

He gritted his teeth, looking for an escape. Was that waitress going to show up anytime soon, or did she know that they were missing a final member of their party? Thinking on his feet, he broke eye contact with Lafayette to look to the other human. “Hey, Jefferson, I just _hate_ to interrupt all the talking, but do you think I could head to the restroom or what?”

The human gave an annoyed groan in response, complete with a drawn out, “Fine, whatever, let’s just make it quick. Washington’s going to be showing up any minute now.”

Dude didn’t even trust him to walk that far and back – although, to be fair, he supposed that such a thing was done with good reason.

Just as Jefferson was moving to get up, Lafayette jumped in with a “you know, Washington will want to hear everything from _you_ , first. He never knew you were buying an ezfi, while I was expecting you to. I can take him.”

Perfect.

Jefferson seemed to consider before muttering out, voice soft, “Alright, thank you. Um, just grab ‘im by his wingbands, and he’ll let you walk him over there.” He took a sip of his drink.

Lafayette nodded, rising to his feet, and Alexander did the same. But, when Lafayette beckoned him over and placed him arm on the ezfi’s back, the touch was feather-light and centered over the small of his back instead of his bands. Enough to appease Jefferson, without causing Alexander to change his mind.

Lafayette led him over near the restroom signs, going around a bend in the corner, before dropping his hand. The restaurant was built in such a way that the restrooms were down a hall – blocking any diners from seeing them. “It is very lucky that there are very few patrons today.”

Alexander crossed his arms. “Yeah, less people to bother us while we’re over here. So. Start talkin’, ‘cause I can’t help but think that this is going to be our only chance. Why did Hercules tell me to look for you?”

The human looked to the side, but instead of leaning against the wall, he remained straightened up with a stiff posture. “Hercules is...he is a good friend of mine. If he saw that you are someone special, or in a situation that I could make better, he would have suggested you look to me. So what is your situation?”

“What is my situation!? Uh, I’m stuck with your _buddy_ Thomas, who just _happens_ to be a goddamn psychopath.” Alexander forced himself to speak slower and softer than usual, despite his growing frustration. If he was too fast, Lafayette wouldn’t be able to understand him, and if he was too loud, other customers in the room would overhear their conversation. “He’s rude, patronising, condescending, treating me like some mentally-incompetent animal, always on guard and happy to lock me up in a room for hours on end...should I go on?”

Lafayette’s mouth twisted into a frown as he thought over their scenario. “Go on.”

Alexander just spread his hands, saying, “Okay, sure. So I’ve got these fucking wingbands screwing up my wings even considering I showed up with an injury on ‘em, he’s got a way to track my location at all times, he drags me around everywhere and considering the clothes he was looking at this morning, he’s definitely planning to throw me out to show off in skimpy outfits, look pretty and absent.”

There was a sigh, and Alexander looked up to see that it had come from Lafayette, the human tugging at his hair. “Thomas certainly took those ‘New Ezfi Owner’ books to...to heart, I believe the expression goes.” The ezfi found himself wrinkling his nose at the thought of such guides, and the human let out a long breath. “Are you still untreated from your injury?”

“No. Just a dislocated wing, someone popped it back in. I, uh, don’t really remember that well. People at the auction house drugged me up ‘cause I was causing issues.”

The human grimaced further. “Alright.”

Alexander rubbed at his arms. “The thing is, Jefferson was so...he was so insistent that we could make a compromise! That things can work out, and yet here he is, dragging me all over the place. He’s got zero tolerance, and when he says compromise, he really means that _I_ need to do whatever _he_ says and be what _he_ wants me to be. And honestly, if he thinks that he can just force another person to act like that, then he’s fucking loony!”

“Alexander,” Lafayette said, taking a step closer. Out of reflex, the ezfi stepped back, wings hitting the wall behind him. “Don’t compromise. _Never_ compromise, because all that does is make you end unsatisfied. No, you must _collaborate_. Work with him. Convince him.”

“ _He_ doesn’t want to work with me!” Alexander hissed back. “He doesn’t trust me, and for good fucking reason, because I’m two steps away from stabbing him in the back! I- I mean...” His thoughts returned to that moment earlier in the car, and then to his excited shriek when he saw Gilbert. “He doesn’t seem completely bad. But it feels like I can only pull him out of his convoluted reality in an argument, instead of him just having the normal sense to do so!”

“Convince him otherwise. I know him, Alexander. And you’re right – he is not that hard exterior he has shown you thus far, but he’s confused and reactive just like you. He was going back and forth on buying an ezfi for a long time, wanting to find the perfect one, and it was _you_. He’s desperate, Alexander, for companionship, for help, for someone that can be there for him, talk to him, laugh with him. He’s intelligent, yes, and perhaps it feels as though he often outwits you. But if you start to work with him, say that you don’t want to live together fighting, if you make him see an opportunity, then he will run for it and grab at it, try to make something of it, in desperation.”

“Thanks for you sage advice, wise one,” Alexander muttered, rolling his eyes. He couldn’t see Thomas – no, Jefferson – as being desperate for his ezfi to cooperate with him. The guy wasn’t _desperate_ , just _demanding_.

“I’m speaking in all seriousness,” Lafayette insisted. “I can...I will message him, try to convince him that you’re just acting defensive and whatever else I can say. I am not justifying his behavior at all, but he is just going along with what other owners do. Most owned ezfis are dressed fancifully, are expected to keep out of the way, and he’s using that as his basis of how you should be. He is conflicted, trying to show you how to act in public while behaving elsewise at home.”

“Well, isn’t that just a shame. He can’t fathom another way to act that doesn’t involve stereotypes,” Alexander growled, “God, why do we have to settle for something like that!? Even as just a kid, I knew that rebellion would be the only way to rise up, that _not giving in_ to the will of someone in power was the only way we could be free, and look at this! Of all people, I was the one who was fucking kidnapped and you’d think that I could rise to the occasion, but instead I’m sinking. I can’t...I can’t give in to him!” Lafayette appeared surprised, thoughtful, impressed? Alexander ignored the flurry of emotions, continued on in his tirade, “Hell, I...I _saw_ you hand off that slip of paper. Why, I don’t have a goddamn clue, but considering it was so...obscure, I can’t help but think that maybe you’ve got something going on that you’re not telling me. Either that, or he’s just another one of your students, and I’m- I’m just going crazy!”

He jerked in surprise when the human grabbed his shoulders, grip firm but not forcing him. “You saw?” There was a twinkle in his eyes.

“Maybe I’m the only one who would have given it any attention, but I _did_.”

Lafayette pulled away, one hand over his mouth and eyes downcast as he considered the new development. “Interesting.”

“Huh?”

“You’re an interesting ezfi, Alexander. You are smart, and it seems like little gets past you. You want to hear more, you want to find what you are missing. And I understand that. So, here is what I suggest. We cannot continue to stand here and talk, as surely Thomas is waiting on us. I’ll walk back first, and you after me – do not look as though you’re following, but just returning of your own accord. Sit down beside Thomas again. Washington will likely be there – he is...on my side, I will say, but do not bring anything up with him while here with Thomas. Because, Thomas is...not against us, but he is not involved or aware of what is truly occuring.”

His suspicions had been justified. There _was_ something going on, something that Hercules and Lafayette and Washington and – who was that last ezfi? – _John_ , were all a part of. Thomas was not, but he also wasn’t an enemy – which meant that Alexander could manipulate him. “Alright.”

Lafayette nodded. “I will have Thomas give you my armband ID, so that you can message me. A standard progression, if you will. Gain his trust, and I am certain that I can convince him to allow you to spend a day with me. And we will come clean then.”

_We_. Alexander jerked his head in acknowledgement, and then Lafayette stepped back from him, turned. “Then it is time we rejoin them.”

The human left the hallway, and Alexander was alone. Truly alone, of his own free will. The yellow lights flickered slightly, but remained as bright as always. A decorative, but ultimately meaningless photo of smiling patrons stared at him from its display on the wall. And after several long seconds, Alexander forced himself into motion, walking out after Lafayette into the main dining area. It appeared just as he had left it, with the same golden hue. Their ezfi waitress was delivering food to a nearby table.

Their table of three was now a table of four, it seemed. Alexander’s chair remained open, while Lafayette was reseating himself. Jefferson’s brow was pinched in annoyance, and when his head snapped to the side to see Alexander, the ezfi held his head high and strolled back to the table.

The formerly-empty chair to the right of his own seat was occupied by a human, a bit older than Jefferson. Alexander snorted, pulled out his chair and relaxedly sat down with a swing of his legs. One foot bumped against Jefferson’s, and while he didn’t move it away, he at the very least restrained himself from stepping on the human’s toes. “You’re Washington?”

The human looked down over him, watchful, powerful. Alexander noticed the way he glanced over to Lafayette for an instant, the other responding with the tiniest nod of the head before he answered. “That would be me.”

Jefferson jumped in, and from his position, Alexander saw how his right hand was clenched, tense, out of stress. Or...anxiety? “See, sir, this is the ezfi I was telling you about.”

Washington nodded, focused on the ezfi, who found himself with his wings held slightly higher than normal, feathers fluffed up. “Alexander Hamilton.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm debating how far I should push things before I add additional tags, haha. I really should get the relationship tags sorted out.
> 
> Honestly, I'm getting excited to really be pushing into this fic. We're now almost 26,000 words in! And...Alex still wants to rip out Thomas' guts. Oh well. They'll negotiate a peace eventually. I've got everything planned.
> 
> Thomas has been acting rough with Alexander, but it would never develop into outright abusiveness. He has no intentions to physically discipline his ezfi, only pull him around and take preemptive measures to quell disobedience. Despite his rudeness and how he seems to treat others – ezfis in particular – he's only frustrated, stressed, conflicted, and, well...he's also not the nicest person. There's no full justification for his behavior, because in the end he's still acting out and hurting others, but it's a warped and ugly front. He's been raised and grown into a shell that led him down this road, but there's always time to turn the other way...especially when there's more at stake.
> 
> Female ezfis with fancy wings tend to get the most tips, so being a waitress is actually a pretty good way for them to make regular money in a "normal" job. Most jobs can be filled by both ezfis and humans, of course, although their effectiveness can vary – ezfis are often runners in government operations, for example.
> 
> Lafayette is telling the truth when he says Thomas is desperate. He'll take whatever he can get.
> 
> And John returns! Alexander is equal parts intimidated and admiring.


	6. Argument

“If you had _told_ anyone that you were planning to buy an ezfi, I could have offered you advice,” Washington forcefully stated, taking a bite of his food. Alexander poked at his salad, glaring daggers at the table and stabbing his fork into the wilted lettuce. It didn’t even taste that good; it wasn’t crisp and fresh like the local-grown vegetables back home always were. No, it had clearly been dumped onto his plate by a minimum-wage worker (probably human; ezfis tended to stay out of professional kitchens due to wings being hazardous) right out of a frozen bag of pre-mixed instant salad.

Jefferson’s hand shook just the smallest bit as he set his fork down on his plate with a light _clink_. “With all due respect, Mr. Washington, I went with a few friends who had intentions to buy just the same as I. Our decisions were made together and well-thought out.”

“Your _friends_ are not in the same position as you,” he replied, tone almost bordering on condescending. “Also unlike you, at least one of them – John Adams – freely discussed his plans with me. Whether he took my advice or not, he of _all_ people had the foresight to do so, and reportedly brought home a female.”

Alexander didn’t know who that was, although he had a feeling he’d find out soon enough. Jefferson’s groan didn’t escape him, and he rolled his eyes, leaning back in his chair. He couldn’t find the willpower within himself to finish his salad; instead, he just picked off a single crouton to eat, ignoring the strange look Jefferson gave him. Whatever. The human had seen him shoveling pasta into his mouth the night before; he had just fine manners when he needed them, but this wasn’t exactly a high-class place. Supposedly the people they were meeting with were, but neither batted an eyelash at his actions.

Jefferson seemed to steel himself before replying, “No matter the case, isn’t having an ezfi supposed to be a good thing? With all due respect, sir, I’ve been needing a...an assistant, and Gilbert encouraged me. I did my research beforehand. That worked just fine for you.”

Worked fine for him? Alexander chewed at the inside of his cheek, brow furrowed. Was Washington an ezfi owner? He seemed...perhaps not immediately trustworthy, but an ally, in the sort of position Alexander would strive for. But if the man was a willing owner, that certainly was going to put a damper on their relationship.

“I had to put in the hard work to try and make something the way _I_ wanted to make it, built on respect and capability rather than some of the ways other owners get their ezfis to work the way they like. And if you want for your endeavors to work out like mine, you’re setting yourself up for failure – if you can’t fit together, you’re going to be swimming upstream.”

“Tsh, except that’s not exactly going to _happen_ ” Alexander said under his breath, running his finger along the dull edge of his knife. He couldn’t help but wonder if Jefferson would notice if he just...slipped it under his shirt.

Washington spoke about the connection between an owner and their ezfi like it was some _magical_ thing. Or, really, something that could be built in different ways – fear, pain, or respect. And he was getting the impression that Jefferson wouldn’t be looking to build that last option up. No, he certainly didn’t think that way. Alexander noted how Jefferson’s attention was focused on him with a keen eye, a slight twitch at the corner of his mouth at the sight of Alexander playing with the knife, before Alexander slowly set it down onto the tablecloth.

Lafayette spoke up then, raising one hand in certainty. “Thomas would settle for nothing less than the perfect ezfi for him. And Alexander seems every ounce as intelligent as one may imagine that ezfi to be.” His expression was calm, golden light reflecting in his eyes.

Alexander raised his head, eyes glaring in stark contrast. “And _I’m_ imagining that I’ve got no intentions to be a _secretary._ I wasn’t one back home, and I’m not looking to be one here.”

No one responded, a few beats of tense silence between them. Lafayette appeared almost...amused, a faint interest spreading across his features. Washington seemed to be observing their interaction with a keen eye. And Jefferson appeared as annoyed as ever, staring him down as Alexander returned the look, unwavering.

Finally, Washington spoke up. “And where’re you from?” Alexander jerked his head to stare up at the human, noting that even sitting down he towered over the ezfi. In fact, all three humans sitting around him did – they were all easily over six feet, likely having a few extra inches on top of that. It was...worrying, to an extent. Ezfis were naturally tiny and light so that they could get themselves off of the ground; it was a stark contrast in comparison to the humans surrounding him.

“Somewhere you probably don’t even know exists,” he scoffed in response. Saint Kitts and Nevis was a tiny, tiny country out in the sea. “Where I had a normal life, because not every city is as ass-backwards as this place!” He failed to mention the rampant ezfi-trade dealings he’d seen in the nearby islands. How much it had affected his life. How close he was to ezfis who’d escaped something little better than slavery.

How he’d never even begun to consider that it could happen to him.

“What was your line of work, if you don’t mind me asking?” Lafayette hummed, taking a bite of his meal a moment after. His tone was more prompting than questioning, a suggestion that Alexander show off. Make it clear what he could do.

And more importantly, he was driving in a fact: that Alexander had an education (albeit very little; he had been in a...unique position when it came to schooling), that Alexander had a career, work experience, and was not just an asset, but a _person_ with a _life_.

Alexander looked down at his half-eaten salad, grumbling out, “Import-export firm. Calculated currency differences, exchange rates, dealt with getting goods from one place to another. I was in charge of the trading charter when the owner was off on vacation for weeks at a time.”

“See, Thomas?” Lafayette cried out, causing Alexander to jump in surprise, feathers fluffing up. He was _loud_ , and vocal, something that made him stand out in the sparsely-filled restaurant. “Both headstrong business-owners!” He had just said he didn’t outright _own_ the firm, but alright. “And doesn’t every man want a beautiful little ezfi that naturally reflects their personality? I am _sure_ that you will be very happy like this, working together, a perfect match.”

Alexander’s brow furrowed as he drew his gaze up to Lafayette’s face – and he could have sworn that when their eyes met, Lafayette _winked_. Was he...trying to convince _Jefferson_ that Alexander would work for him? That Alexander had his strong points, and that he could be beneficial if under the right conditions.

Washington gave a sharp nod, sitting up straighter than before and folding his hands across his lap in finality. “Then I expect to see you both again soon. Alexander seems to be an ezfi of a lot of...potential.” Lafayette voiced his agreements wholeheartedly, exclaiming that he’d love to spend some time with Alexander of his own accord and really get to know him.

Their statements were open-ended, and Jefferson nodded in a quick agreement, but when Alexander looked down, he saw the way Jefferson’s fingers were digging into his thigh.

* * *

 

Jefferson was strangely quiet during the car ride back, and it was starting to worry Alexander. He’d baited the human, grumbled at him, and yet he’d gotten no response. And after a few well-placed threats, he laid down across the backseat, staring at nothing in particular as buildings passed by. The complete silence made him wonder what the human had in mind, and if his plan was to make the ezfi squirm, he was certainly succeeding.

He was led up the stairs and back into Jefferson’s bedroom – but instead of being pulled right back into the tiny sunroom, the human’s grip weakened and then fell away from his wingbands. Alexander was left standing several feet away, noting the loss of touch as Jefferson turned back to the door, locking it.

What good did a lock do to keep them in if it was locked from the inside?

Clearly plenty, Alexander noted, as he stood on his tiptoes to try and get an idea of what Jefferson was doing. The door itself was just as any other, but then he noticed the mechanism around the handle – the same on as on his own sunroom door, on the inside. A two way lock? Only able to be opened by someone with the correct permissions, but serving to close the door from either side as necessary. He could see that being useful to install in a home with someone imprisoned against their will, right?

And then, to his surprise, Jefferson leaned back against the door and let out a long, slow sigh. His head hit the wood with a thump, eyes half-lidded as he gazed up at the ceiling.

The ezfi crossed his arms, taking another step back and staring at the human. What was he doing? He raised an eyebrow, wings half-spread and shoulders tensed. Several beats of silence, and then the human spoke, voice flat and soft.

“You just _couldn’t_ keep your mouth shut, could you?”

He grimaced, showing his teeth. “Uh, your supposedly important, scary human friends seemed to like me _just fine_. And if your ugly mug wasn’t stuffed five feet up your ass, you’d realize that too!”

“It’s not about _networking_! I told you to be quiet, because that’s what your _supposed to do_ , and it’s expected that you follow my orders! It’s one thing if you think you know what you’re doing, and another if you’re blatantly spitting in face!” The human spread his hands in a helpless gesture, which would have been slightly more convincing if he didn’t appear to be seething in rage. “Compromise, compromise, can’t you understand me!? I _want_ you to just...listen to me, even if it doesn’t always make sense. Just do what I tell you when it matters. And if _you_ give a little, then I can give a little too!”

“Oh, sure! I love being dressed up like a poodle and pranced about while you let me pick out a couple shirts of my own out of the _kindness_ of your heart. That’s _exactly_ what it means to compromise, yeah!” His voice cracked. “Jefferson, you can’t expect someone who’s been living life disillusioned and on their own for _years_ , taking orders from _no one_ , to suddenly bow to your _fantasies_.”

The human’s eye twitched, and then he growled back, “Be quiet. Just...shut it, and stand here, or I’ll...I’ll lock you in the sunroom.” His eyes were narrowed, and he shrugged off the coat he’d slung over his shoulders earlier, walking past Alexander and around his bed. His shadow fell across the ezfi as he passed in front of the window, disappearing into another door – a walk in closet, it appeared. Probably to hang up his coat or change into something more casual and comfortable.

It took a few moments for his anger to ebb and subside enough for him to realize the situation he was in. Jefferson had, technically, left him unsupervised while the human dug through his closet.

He snorted. “Alright. Just leave me alone in your bedroom. Fine with me. I’ll go jump out the window or something.”

Yes, it was only two rooms (three, counting the attached bathroom). But that was still three times more than what he’d had access to before. He almost expected the human to pop back in after a minute, but he seemed to be taking his time. Not that that would do too much good for his “jump out the window” plan, considering from what he could tell, they were locked.

He slowly turned on his heels, looking around. There wasn’t much of note out in the bedroom at that moment; it appeared mostly unchanged from how he’d seen it that morning, outside of seeing the bedsheets had been switched out. Uninterested, he wandered over towards the computer desk to see if there was anything of note to swipe while he had the chance.

The desk itself appeared similar to his own in design, but instead of having a built-in screen, the computer itself was separate. A small mug sat to the side, a sleek pen – no, a stylus – sitting inside. The white ceramic was decorated with flowers and a bright red bird, letters spelling out “Virginia is for Lovers”.

Huh. Okay then.

In the far corner of the desk was an electronic picture frame. It was surprisingly ornate, but he had certainly already seen Jefferson’s fondness for overly-fancy objects; various photos displayed on the screen, switching every few seconds. Glancing over his shoulder just to see if Jefferson had returned yet, he picked up the frame, looking over each photo as they scrolled by.

The first was Jefferson and Lafayette, smiling wide with bright eyes and white teeth. Lafayette was wearing a nice, deep blue coat with golden accents; Jefferson was dressed in a horrifically magenta suit. They looked clean, composed, almost as though they were posing for a family picture.

The next photo was of Sally. Alexander stared down at it in confusion – Jefferson was absent, and once again, this appeared to be a professional shot. She was posing with the smallest of smiles on her face, hair loose around her shoulders and wings held half-spread. He supposed he could concede that it was important to be close to a housekeeper, but it still seemed a bit...odd how their relationship was shown.

The third was of him and a woman. Unlike the others, this wasn’t taken in a photo studio – it was a candid shot of the two of them. Jefferson had one arm slung over her shoulder, wearing that same magenta jacket from earlier unbuttoned and loose. She was in a sundress, head thrown back in laughter.

Who was that? Sister, wife, cousin? Just like in the photo with Lafayette, Jefferson seemed so...happy. He wasn’t guarded and aggressive; rather, he was genuine and relaxed. Alexander couldn’t help but wonder how long it would take for Jefferson to loosen up around him. After all, despite how Sally kept herself out of his way, and Jefferson’s general disregard for the regular ezfis living regular lives, clearly his distaste was...variable. He claimed to have his reasoning for buying Alexander, right?

There were footsteps behind him, and he spun around, finding himself staring up into Jefferson’s eyes. His lips were oh-so-slightly parted in something that wasn’t quite curiosity, but rather questioning, and he had changed into a button-down shirt, the top few left unbuttoned. Then, those eyes focused on the photo frame he was holding, and Jefferson’s expression contorted into something a little more...dangerous. “Alexander. I didn’t give you permission to touch my desk. Put that back.”

Alexander scoffed, gripping it a little tighter and sassing back at the human. “ _Why_? Aren’t I supposed to learn to be a good little ezfi, fetching toys and holding things for you? Might want to get used to me touching your shit, considering I’m your goddamn slave.”

Jefferson’s eyes narrowed and more forcefully, he repeated, “ _Alexander_. Put the _fucking_ picture frame down. I _can’t_...I don’t want you breaking it. So put it back.” He lifted his chin up, squared his shoulders to look more intimidating, but his eyes softened just the tiniest bit. “Please. It’s important to me, and I don’t like people touching it.”

Against his better judgement, Alexander looked down at the photo frame, which had cycled back to Sally, then back up to Jefferson, before raising his free hand and flipping the human off. “It’s just some old pictures on an old frame. Maybe I’ll take it back to my room; give it a little personality and decoration.” To prove his point, he unwisely began to walk forward, still clutching the it in one hand.

He made it halfway to the door before Jefferson seemed to shake himself out of his thoughts and make a move, footsteps heavy behind him. He expected the human to snag him by the shoulder, or pull at his shirt, but instead he reached out for the closest connection he could.

“Ahh-!” Alexander jerked, mouth open in a strangled cry when Jefferson _yanked_ on his previously-injured wing. It wasn’t that hard, but his muscles were still so sensitive, and it caused him to stagger. Searing pain spread over his shoulder and he couldn’t seem to draw a breath into his lungs as he stumbled backwards, dropping the photo frame onto the carpeted floor where it harmlessly tumbled to the side.

He let out a weak groan as he collapsed onto the floor, tears gathering in the corners of his eyes. It didn’t feel like his wing had been pulled out of place again, but rather the injury had been aggravated, and he whimpered quietly as he pulled his legs up tight against him.

“Stop being so overdramatic,” Jefferson said dismissively, annoyedly, stooping down to pick up the frame again. He inspected it, turned it from side to side and checked the glass for cracks, and then brushed it off and set it back in its rightful place. It had cycled over to that women once again, and Alexander doubted that Jefferson had ever even thought to lay a hand on _her_.

Alexander raised one shaking hand to wipe at his tears, the movement of his shoulder making him sharply inhale, letting out a gasp of pain. “F-fuck…”

“Alexander, really-” Jefferson’s voice cut off as his gaze raked over the ezfi, and Alexander grit his teeth and glared as he tried to roll over back onto his knees, a tear sliding down his cheek. “Oh. Uh. Shit.” The human took a step towards him, hunching down a bit before reaching out towards him.

“Gah! Stop, stop it, _stop, that hurts!_ ” He cried out when the human hooked his hands underneath his arms and pulling him to his feet, abused wing jostled. Involuntarily, his breath stuttered as he choked out a sob and buried his face into the human’s chest without thinking, even while the other maneuvered them to the side and onto the bed. He hissed at the sensation, one of the human’s arms helping to pull him up into an artificially relaxed position. He would have protested, but each little movement ripped away the air in his lungs. There was a pressure at the base of his wings, gentle and yet so present, helping to keep him grounded as he let out a soft, pained groan.

The pain was subsiding slowly, transitioning from sharp stabs to a deep throbbing through his back. And when he found himself able to focus more, it was from the slow, repetitive movements of Jefferson rubbing his back bringing him back from his blurred haze.

Those hands were surprisingly gentle, large and warm, and he wanted to press further into them.

Instead, once he realized exactly _what_ Jefferson was doing, he hissed, jerking and slapping the human’s hands away. “Fuck off! I’ve still got an injured wing and it fucking hurts, you’re not helping!” Except that he _was_ helping. No, no. He could help all he wanted and that didn’t excuse the fact that he was the cause of the problem in the first place.

The human pulled his hands back, instead draping one over the ezfi’s thigh. Alexander found himself becoming increasingly aware of their position – he was curled up in Jefferson’s lap, body flush against the other’s.

And he didn’t like that. Despite his back’s protests, he shoved the human away, forcing himself off of the other’s lap and onto the bedspread, hastily sitting up to see Jefferson looking back at him. The human’s anger seemed to have evaporated, instead replaced with...not quite an apologetic look, but rather regret. “I didn’t mean to do that.”

Alexander barked out a mocking laugh. “And I’m sure you won’t mean it either the next time you go too far, only that time it’s a broken bone or something even _worse._  Oh, piss off!”

“I’m not _trying_ to hurt you! It was an accident!” He shouted back. “I don’t want to fight! Alex, _please_. I-I know I’ve been pulling you around some, but I’d never- I’d never intentionally _hurt_ you in retribution like that.” He moved forward, kneeling, and Alexander scooted back. That little movement seemed to be enough for the human to realize what he was doing, and he slid backwards, planting his feet on the ground and rising up, leaning against the bed. “I…ugh!” He pulled at his hair, face screwed up in frustration. “I just...I can’t live like this. Locking you in a room all day until I need you to come be pretty. And I don’t want you to be one of those weird owned ezfis who strolls around like they’re on a diamond-studded leash. Why can’t we...work this out? Lafayette clearly thinks your good, why can’t you _show_ me that instead of trying to spite me!? Why can’t... _I_ show you...”

Alexander glared at him – Jefferson didn’t deserve a lick of pity; it was _his_ fault – and Jefferson shifted on his feet before those wide-eyes darkened into the familiar, annoyed look. The human sighed, saying, “Okay. Fine. We’ll talk over dinner later tonight.” He reached out a hand, and after a long moment, Alexander slowly clambered to his feet, making a point of ignoring the offer. His back _ached_ , twinges of discomfort threading through him as he shuffled his wings and folded them tightly back into a resting position. It was familiar, comfortable, and while he winced as he walked, it was better. With Jefferson’s prompting, he hung his head and slowly padded back into his own room.

The human stood in the doorway, rocking on his heels. He looked uncomfortable, unsure of what to do with himself. Then, he sighed. “I’ll...I’ll come get you in a bit. We’re going to have casserole for dinner, and it takes a while to cook and prepare it, so we can start putting it together early. Um, I’m not good at cooking, so I work a little slowly. And, er, you can pick out some clothes tonight! And I’ll get you painkillers. If you need them, that is. It’s just generic stuff.”

Alexander looked over the room. It felt even smaller now, barren, and in lieu of replying to the human, he instead walked over to the bed and laid down facing away from the door.

“Alex?”

“ _Alexander_ , Jefferson.”

“...When we’re alone at home, you can just call me Thomas. More casual-sounding that way, you know? And there’s no one to judge us then.”

“Sure thing, _Jeffershit_. Or do you want me to start calling you _master_ too?”

Jefferson scoffed, but answered with a “No.” A few moments later, the ezfi picked out the sound of the door shutting – but not locking – and retreating footsteps.

Alexander curled up on top of the blankets, eyelashes still wet. He was miserable, pained, and completely and utterly alone.

And when the human returned later with a handful of pills and a bag of ice wrapped in paper towels, he refused to look him in the eye.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The fall semester has started for me, so we'll see how that goes in regards to updates. The next chapter should be soon enough, however; I'm trying to get into writing more now that I've gotten pretty good at knocking out a chapter in one day of straight work. This chapter is a little short because I didn't want to add the next scene in quite yet; that'll be coming in the next chapter (which I am particularly excited to write! We'll get to see a LOT more of John and Lafayette, and a little Burr, too!)
> 
> Thomas' main issue with Alexander is just that the ezfi won't do what he says. Ideally, Thomas wants Alexander to be trustworthy enough to roam the apartment, have friends, etc. but be quiet when told to and fetch a glass of water on command, and similar. He's fine with Alex being snarky, having a personality, and all that – he just wants the ezfi to do what he tells him to, when he tells him to, instead of fighting against him the entire time. If anything, he's almost got a begrudging respect for Alexander's willpower.
> 
> We get to know a little more about Thomas! He really did mean to just pull Alexander back like you'd tug on someone's arm; it wasn't his intention to yank Alexander's injured wing specifically, or so hard (he was more worried on getting his picture frame back). And while he didn't exactly apologize, he feels terrible for aggravating Alexander's injury like that. If his ezfi wasn't about to rip he's face off he'd probably dote on him a lot more, like he was going to do when he first walked in to the sunroom a few chapters ago.


	7. Discussion

It was nearly sunset. John had to specify “ _nearly”_ as, while the nights were becoming longer, the days still seemed to stretch forever. The busyness of traffic was finally clearing out the best it could ever be in a city as densely inhabited as New York, the tide of people subsiding as rush hour dwindled. The large percentage of self-driving cars helped with congestion somewhat, although there were always those who had to go with a manual beeping their horns and shouting out their windows.

Not that it mattered much to someone who could fly.

John beat his wings twice more, deep flaps in quick succession to push him higher into the sky. Lower to the pavement, he was at a greater risk of breaking his feathers against the side of a building, or hitting a pole; besides, he prefered to be up higher in the breeze, rather than playing it risky. There were even specific laws concerning flying too close to pedestrians, and the last thing he needed tonight was to attract the attention of law enforcement.

Oh no, the less people saw of him, the better.

Hence why he found it _hilarious_ that Thomas _fucking_ Jefferson still had no clue who he was. He’d carefully avoided mentioning his name in the past, and clearly the stuck-up, conceited, pompous, self-absorbed businessman didn’t have the will to extend enough energy to find it of his own accord. A very, very good thing indeed – considering John was technically his employee, and was...well, _stealing_ blueprints and tech from the company.

All in a day’s work, if he did say so himself, although oftentimes found himself looking over his shoulder, waiting for his misdeeds to catch up with him holding a knife over his spine, the bull’s-eye of his blood-red wing feathers.

He angled himself downwards, and then pulled back, flapping and beating his wings backwards, finally nearly dropping the final few feet to the ground. He gave a tiny cry as he stumbled from his shaky landing (it was always difficult to drop straight down in a crowded place), thankful he’d at least secured his hair back before heading out. His curls were already unmanageable enough, and he didn’t need them to be particularly wind-tousled as well.

His hands gripped at the edges of his light hoodie as he gently shook out his wings, quelling cramps and trying to dispel some of the heat that radiated off of his feathers. Thankfully, the sun wasn’t at an angle where it would shine in his eyes, but he still felt rather illuminated and overly conspicuous as he shifted on his feet and waited.

 _And waited_.

Lafayette had called him here. Subtly, and perhaps it was pushing things a bit for the two of them to be seen together so often, but there were words to be discussed.

Then, _finally_ , just the person he had wanted to see. Walking – _why_ would he walk? – with his head bowed the tiniest bit, black and white wings folded down tight against his back, Aaron Burr stepped under the overhang to stand beside John.

Freckled face grinning, he loudly, conspicuously stated, “Aaron Burr! Great to see you.”

Burr’s expression was tired, and John could only imagine why. They had both just gotten out of work, but while John’s job was tedious, Burr’s – emotionlessly speaking to a host of ezfis, scared and bloody, day in and day out, just wanting to go home and crying when they realized they couldn’t...– it just wasn’t something that John could ever handle.

Aaron folded his hands behind his back, fingers threading together as he straightened up. “A pleasure to see you as well.” John opened his mouth with the intention of continuing his quips when Aaron cut in with a definitive “Although we both know why we’re here.”

Chuckling under his breath, John smoothly stepped to the side, sweeping one wing in a wide, inviting arc. “Yeah, for you to open the door for me.”

He wasn’t being intentionally antagonizing – he didn’t know Burr very well; only slightly better than most of Lafayette’s ezfi students – but he caught the way the corner of the other’s mouth twitched slightly and he re-folded his wings once more in annoyance. “You could have waited indoors if the weather was too much for you.”

The weather. Ah, yes, the fading sun and slightest of breezes. Quite a catastrophe. Still, John shook his head, pressing his palm to the building’s exterior and running his hand along the rough wall. “I try not to come here often, but our meeting was cut short this afternoon. I need to talk to Lafayette, but even if my armband ID would unlock the door to let me in – which it doesn’t, ‘far as I know – it’d probably be flagged for suspicious activity.” He’d worn his armband for practically as long as he could remember; it was essential for just about everything. Payments for lunch, messaging a friend, pulling up some entertainment on a night off. If anything, it was stranger to see someone _not_ wearing one, usually a foreigner.

Case in point would be Lafayette himself. Aaron sighed, but seemed to allow that explanation as enough. “Well. So long as you’re comfortable with being seen on camera.” He lifted one arm, sleeves of his white dress shirt rolled up, and held his wrist up to the door for a long moment before it _clicked_. Burr gave him a look, and then walked inside, holding the door for an extra moment longer so that John could slip in after him.

It was a residential building, technically. An older one, very clearly designed more for humans, rather than ezfis. That in of itself was fairly normal to see; there were smaller balconies, too small to safely take off from or land on, and everything was tighter and more compressed. More economic for large cities.

They walked over to the elevators, and once again, Burr had to call the elevator. A moment later, they stepped on. Burr visited Lafayette often enough – a fact that could be easily brushed aside if anyone went looking through the entrance logs, for the simple reasoning that Burr was in the education sector. Aaron had been torn away from his home years and years ago, to the point it was a faded memory now, and Lafayette had been the one to pull him and the others around him to their feet and help them adjust to a terrifying world. He’d shown them the life they now lived, and played off of their individual skills and abilities to do so.

Lafayette always seemed to be like that. So confident and ready to pull others to their feet, deliver them to a strange world anew. _When you’re livin’ on your knees, you rise up. Don’t this shit make the people wanna rise up?_

Aaron cleared his throat, and John jumped, wings smacking the back wall in his surprise. Wincing, John rubbed at his back. “Yeah?” Burr’s gaze was relaxed, and in comparative embarrassment, John stretched his shoulders and refolded his wings tight against the curve of his spine. The tips of his feathers brushed against his dress pants; he hated to wear them, but they were required as part of his office’s dress code. They were an annoyance to try and take flight in, at least. The silence stretched on, and John prodded again, “Did you want to say something?”

“I had something in my throat, actually,” Burr replied noncommittally.

“Oh.” He shifted on his feet, willing the numbers on the floor display to tick by faster. Laf just _had_ to live in an older building. Plenty of newer ones had more accessible balcony areas for ezfis, or at least elevator-accessible rooftop spaces for coming and going – but the older, more outdated and archaic something was, the less likely it was designed with ezfis in mind. That was simply how things were; accomodation for ezfis wasn’t a necessity if they could just use the current facilities instead. Made cars a little annoying, sure, but he could carry his personal bag in flight easily enough without bothering with gas money, parking, commute times, and everything else. “So...how’s life? Gotten a promotion at work lately? Seen a good movie?”

“Life’s average.” John sucked in a long breath between his teeth, getting a little uncomfortable. He didn’t know Burr well enough to come up with anything to talk about.

“Don’t you have a kid? How’s she doing?”

Thankfully, they were nearing Lafayette’s floor, and Burr tipped his head downward and smiled faintly. “She won the ‘cleanest cubby’ award at her daycare.” Aaron’s dark fingers played with the buttons of his uniform, and John noted how similar their outfits were. Burr wore a white button-down and grey dress pants, while John had thrown a hoodie over his long-sleeved dress shirt and tie.

He hated wearing a tie. It felt like a noose around his neck. Shuddering, he reached up to tug at his collar. “That’s good. Wife still alright?”

“Yeah,” Aaron said, and John’s brow furrowed at his despondent tone. He was debating asking about that, but then the other ezfi continued, “Aren’t you hot in that hoodie?”

“What? Oh. Kinda, I guess,” John admitted, messing with his sleeves at the abrupt change in topic. Then, a _ding_ , and John hopped out of the elevator and trotted down the hallway, checking the note he’d made on his armband for the correct door number. This wasn’t the first time he’d had to pop into Lafayette’s place, but it had been a while since his last visit.

The city was crowded, even with a good chunk of the population living outside of the city and commuting (even if ezfis couldn’t necessarily fly as fast as a car on the highway, they didn’t exactly have to deal with traffic or indirect routes), space was a luxury. John was lucky enough to have a salary that afforded a room big enough to stretch his wings to their full span in, even if he wasn’t rich by any means. However, he did know for a fact that Lafayette had the money to buy a nicer-sized apartment than the one he lived in nowadays – social status-wise, he was easily as important as Jefferson, and had the money to live up to that. But where Jefferson rented – _rented! He didn’t even buy –_ two floors and rooftop access, Lafayette took a spacious, but cozy, private apartment.

Here. Burr shambled along after him, tapping at his armband. Not having the patience to wait for the ezfi to make his way over, John straightened his back and rapped at the door. Footsteps padded on the other side of the wood, and just as Aaron was finally making his way over to stand beside John, the door opened and warm arms enveloped John, pulling him inside. “Laurens!”

“Ha, hey, Laf,” he replied, patting the Frenchman on the back and then batting him in the head with one wing. “Good to see ya!”

The human chuckled. He was the sort of man who _liked_ to just grab his buddy and pull them into a bone-crushing hug for the simple reasoning of “he could”, especially under the pretense that it was more American than bisous. Behind them, Burr casually walked in with slow and light steps. “Am I interrupting something?”

“Quoi? Ah, non, I wanted to watch...to show? My friend some appreciation,” Lafayette said, laughing off Burr’s comment. “Now, sit down! The both of you.” The human turned to fall backwards onto his sofa, propping himself up against the armrest.

Lafayette’s apartment was composed of a main living room with an open-floor plan that connected it to the kitchen on the right. To the left was a hallway that led to the master bedroom, guest bedroom, and pantry. Directly behind the couch were double doors leading to a tiny balcony with high railings – the sort of thing that John _could_ jump off of and probably safely fly away from, but not really in a position that he felt comfortable risking it. It wasn’t too difficult to leap from higher ledges and still at least glide before reaching the ground; John just preferred getting a proper running start. That wasn’t exactly always easy to do considering the crowds in the city, however, so he’d taken a jump every now and then.

Soft, yellow-orange light was streaming through the many windows, and it left Burr’s shirt off-white in color as the ezfi moved to drag a chair away from the kitchen table. Lafayette stretched his arms high above his head, snapping with a surprising forcefulness, “Aaron, none of that. Sit on the...canapé? Couch? Sofa?” Burr jumped at the reprimand, but obediently, gingerly sat down, twisting his wings to either side to make it more comfortable to lean back. John momentarily contemplated taking a seat by Lafayette, but instead chose to drape over the longer, reclining seat at the opposite edge of the sofa. He shuffled his wings so that the bulk of their weight was deposited on the armrest as he relaxed on his side.

The human chuckled at the sight, and John rolled his eyes – Lafayette didn’t have wings, so he could laugh all he wanted, but John wasn’t going to move.

Burr cleared his throat again, and John idly wondered if he’d come down with a cold. “...How have you been, lately?”

The human shrugged, relaxed. “I’m well. I went out to lunch today, at a good cafe.”

 _Yeah, I was there for that one._  John snorted, “Right. And that prick showed up ten minutes before he was supposed to.”

“It is not that he showed up early, rather that he showed up on time, and he is more often than not late,” Lafayette chirped, turning his gaze back to Burr, answering his unspoken question. “Thomas, my brother. I had the pleasure of meeting his ezfi this morning.”

Burr blinked, confused. “Jefferson...has an ezfi?”

Lafayette nodded, and John wasn’t sure whether the other’s expression was grave, or merely factual. “He told me that he and his friends – Adams and Madison – all went to the latest auction together. So clearly, he found someone he deemed suitable. A little male named Alexander, he called himself.”

To John’s surprise, Burr groaned and buried his head in his hands. That was an...interesting reaction. “I was his assigned worker when he was in the processing facility.” John’s head perked up at that. He knew that Burr worked at the facility that prepped kidnapped ezfis to enter the city – where they were stripped down and given basic clothing, an armband, and had a case file built for them. So did that mean that Aaron had met Alexander already? “He’s very...loud. Screamed at me, although he wasn’t openly violent.”

“Oh, that’s-”

“Until he attacked an owned ezfi and got himself barbarically beat up.”

Lafayette coughed in lieu of a direct reply, the corner of his mouth twitching, and he crossed his legs. “I suppose that is...seemingly possible, yes? That a fiesty prisoner equates to the boiling-over pet I met today.”

Wings shifting, John snorted. Alexander _really was_ something else. John wasn’t one to fall head-over-heels before the first date, but he had a good feeling about the strange, tiny ezfi (although perhaps tiny wasn’t the best description, considering he had an inch or two on Burr).

There was a subtle shifting of the cushions, and then Lafayette spoke up, “Why are you smiling, _mon petit oiseau_?”

“I- uh, well, seeing how he was about to rip out Jeffershit’s guts and string ‘em up like Christmas lights just made my day, you know?”

“I will appreciate you do not call my brother by such a derogatory name, but…” Lafayette smiled, eyelashes fluttering, “I will do all in my power to set you up with Alexander. _After_ he is no longer a servant against his will.” He was met with the response of a loud groan, John burying his head into his hands, and Burr falling into an _accidental_ coughing fit. _Must be sick, yep._ Silly as it was, the frenchman’s tone suddenly grew serious, expression seeming to darken. “Yet whatever the case may be: I believe that Alexander is a very intelligent ezfi. If he had not been sold off, I had all intentions of attempting to bring him into the education sector-”

“-Like with me,” Burr concluded. Lafayette nodded.

“Yes. Alexander surely is understanding of the situation.” John found himself nodding along to those words, snapped out of his visions by Burr’s harsh words.

“But aren’t you...worried?” Aaron asked. “Yeah, he’s smart. He’s willing to go down in glory. And sure, that can be a good thing. Until he leaps into battle with sensitive information just because he _can_. He’s a fighter, but not always one with purpose, and knowing strategy means nothing if one does not employ it. If he doesn’t wait for the opportune moment, then we risk losing everything. Besides...and I mean no offense with this statement...he was sold to _Jefferson_. For all we know, he might be scared into submission before any of our plans grow to fruition.”

“Right!” John cried out, pushing himself up off of the cushions. One hand gripped into the soft fabric of the sofa, popping himself off of the seat. “Which means we need to start moving faster. Instead of remaining speculative, we have to start convincing the people, taking action-!”

“Thomas might not be a vocal supporter, or even a quiet one. He has solidly taken the stance of remaining apart from these issues out of a recognition of necessity,” Lafayette stated, firm and solid. “He is not against us, but cannot fathom breaking away from society as it is today. And while that means he is not a conspirator as we are, my brother is not one to ‘ _accidentally’_ kill his ezfi. Thomas has always been...withdrawn, outside of the people he trusts, and that is where are difficulty lies.”

John shifted on his chair, moving to sit on his knees as he shuffled his wings behind him. He trusted Lafayette wholeheartedly, but today, all he’d seen of Jefferson was the human tugging his ezfi around and snapping at him. That didn’t do much to support Lafayette’s beliefs. Slightly uncomfortable, he reached up to tug at his tie. He really should have just taken that off earlier.

The human continued, “My brother will be overly cautious with Alexander. He...spent hours researching guides to owning an ezfi, because he was lonely, and wanted a companion. And therefore, he may be resistant to allowing Alexander access to everything, or even just having time alone with us...because he is afraid that Alexander, the one ezfi he wanted, the one ezfi smart enough to catch his eye, will have the place of mind to take it and run.”

Beside him, Burr muttered under his breath, “Having faith in Mr. Jefferson is poor taste.”

Silence, outside of the soft shifting of feathers on fabric. Lafayette stood, brushing off his sweater vest, sweeping back a few stray hairs that hadn’t quite made it with the rest of his drawn-back hair. “Excuse me? Would you mind repeating that a little more clearly, Burr?”

“I said nothing.”

Lafayette set his jaw, raising his head slightly. He was tall; like Jefferson and Washington, he seemed to tower over the rest of them with an atmosphere of power. And that was coming from John – someone who was lean and tall, even for an ezfi – where the average ezfi was shorter than the average human around them. “Of course you did not. Now…” He tipped his head. “I have contacted Thomas with a proposal, so we will wait and see whether or not he will respond in kind. I have the impression that, if he is willing to work with us, he will be only an asset; someone with access to Thomas’ resources, but the mind to do right with them.”

“And how do you know he’s trustworthy?” Aaron asked, voice low. “I was the one who led him through processing, and my earlier points still stand. I saw who he was when he was scared and hurting, and he was _that_.”

Lafayette looked away, taking a single step. The light streaming in from the balcony doors behind him seemed to frame his form, lighting up a halo around his head, leaving his eyes dark. “Hercules is the one who sent him to me. And Hercules is an ezfi that can hear the most unabashed conversations and pull something useful from it. Hercules is the one our connections use to hide weaponry and ammunition; he gives away nothing, and convinces all to give to us. If he recognized Alexander as being someone we want, both to help Alexander, and for him to help us, then I will honor that. Alexander will benefit, as will we.”

Slowly exhaling, John nodded along to Lafayette’s words. And while he did not voice it, a part of him was hoping that Jefferson would be quick to loosen his hold on the ezfi.

He wanted to see Alexander again.

Then, the human turned to face away. “But he is not the only reason I have called you both here today. No…” He dipped his head, shoulders set and strong. “It is because through our stolen documents and blueprints, weapons stockpiling, whispered tellings...I believe we stand on the eve of revolution.”

* * *

Alexander groaned, the ice pack shifting on his back. It was still cool, soothing his wing, but had since melted into water.

A warm hand stroked through his hair, slowly pulling him back into the waking world. It was gentle, slender fingers warm and soothing as he comfortably sighed, shifting on top of the covers. Tiredly, almost regrettably, he forced one eye open and craned his neck to look up at the person touching him.

Staring down at him was one southern human with a god-complex. “Fucking-!” he cried out, hissing and shoving Jefferson away, pushing his chest up and losing his ice pack to the floor. “What the fuck do _you_ want? Need me to feed you grapes or some shit while you drape over a diamond-accented chair?”

Jefferson reached up to tuck a stray lock of hair behind his ear, eyes half-lidded in annoyance. But, to Alexander’s surprise, he seemed to suck it up and force out, “Actually, I was going to ask if you wanted to help me make dinner.” _Wanted to help._

Alexander swung his legs to the side of the bed and straightened up, arching his back and stretching out his wings. Grunting when the bands jerked at his joints and kept him from spreading to his full wingspan, he narrowed his eyes at Jefferson and tipped his head back to hold steady eye contact with the human. He buried his hands into the wrinkled bed sheets around him, pointedly asking, “Don’t you have _servants_ for that?” Then, with a falsely accentuated performance, as if the realization had only just then dawned on him, he spat, “ _Oh, wait._  That’s supposed to be _me,_ isn’t it?”

Slowly, softly, Jefferson sighed. The way the human slightly bowed his head and refrained from locking his knees gave the impression that he wanted to pull up a chair and sit down, but was sticking to an already-made position not to do so. “It’s complicated, Alex.” The ezfi glared up at him. “ _Alexander_ , I mean, I mean…” He sighed. “If you want to stay up here, then fine. I’ll get you some more ice, or some water, if you want it, and then you can have free range of my bedroom, as long as you’re good. No consequences for choosing that option.”

No consequences. Did Jefferson really think he was that easy to manipulate? Something in his heart was faltering at the thought of those gentle touches, sugar-coated promises of compromise consuming him, and he had to remind himself in anger that people like Jefferson, who had no qualms with buying _another person_ , only acted as he did to try and change how Alexander thought. Dammit, he _wanted_ to make peace, but when everyone was trying to weave a tale of woe, trying to convince him that Jefferson was nothing but a good person? It felt so fake, when Jefferson himself, the one man necessary to backup all of these frivolous claims, seemed to act one way and then change on a whim. Still, if Jefferson really _was_ eager to relax restrictions...running a hand through his hair, he dropped his gaze. “Nah...I’ll help make dinner. Casserole, right?”

“Yeah. Really simple recipe, too. Comfort food.” Rocking on his heels, Jefferson clasped his hands behind his back, an action that Alexander personally found to be uncomfortable (although, to be fair, Jefferson didn’t have wings). Then, a faint, faint smile drew its way over the humans lips, although Alexander found himself unsure if he was imagining it or not. “I...I’m not personally that fond of dragging you down to the kitchen, right, honey? So, uh...do you think you can just walk in front of me? From here to the dining room.”

Scowling at the pet name, Alexander rose to his feet, holding his head high. “I know it’s probably hard to fathom, but I _can_ walk. I just prefer to, you know, _fly_. Being than I’m an ezfi.”

Jefferson returned the look, but his expression remained marred with concern. “How does your wing feel? The doctor I called the other day said it wasn’t totally dislocated, just...messed up somehow? I think? And so long as you kept it folded up normally with your bands, he didn’t need to wrap it up or anything. But with what happened earlier, I wanted to make sure nothing worse happened...”

Alexander scoffed, but gripped his arms tighter, fingers digging into his skin. “Messed up in an understatement...but at least the strong flight muscles right there minimize injury, even if they’re kinda sore too. I think I just twisted it right where it nipped a nerve or something. Who knows…” Eyes dull, he drew his gaze upwards, meeting Jefferson’s. “I wouldn’t worry, though. It’s not like I’m gonna be doing much flying nowadays, right?” Pushing past the human, he made a show of folding and then re-folding his wings, albeit taking special care with the injured one. When he heard no reaction behind him, he internally sighed and began to walk.

The human’s heavier padding picked up a moment later as he seemed to _stomp_ behind Alexander. Making sure to over-dramatically roll his eyes, Alexander turned out of the master suite and into the hallway.

He’d only had the “pleasure” of walking through here a few times so far. He must have first come up those steps and through this hallway on the day he was bought, but to his best memories of the humiliating experience, he’d been mindlessly draped in the human’s _arms_. Not exactly his favourite recollection.

His hand slid down the painted wall as he descended the steps, consciously forgoing the handrail. Jefferson’s apartment (well, it was really more of a duplex, he supposed) was spacious, but not overly ambitious. The second floor had the master suite, sunroom, and guest bathroom, along with an offset around the stairs featuring a small couch. There were a few other rooms that Alexander had yet to see the contents of, although he assumed that at the very least the set of double-doors led to a laundry room, with perhaps a guest bedroom beside it, and a final door leading to roof access.

Something that could _certainly_ come in handy later on.

The lower floor felt larger than the second, although that was likely because it was divided into fewer rooms than the upstairs. He hesitated to consider it the “first” floor, as Jefferson’s apartment consisted of the top two floors of a rather tall building, but he supposed the term was suitable enough. The base of the stairs led to a living room, a wall-mounted screen shut off. Passing through, he walked under an open door frame and into the dining room, connected to the kitchen.

He hadn’t had anything to do with putting together their “breakfast”, although he tended to skip that meal anyway. It always made him feel nauseous to eat too soon after waking up. With that in mind, it was only now that he was able to really get a good look at the kitchen. If anything, it was the sort that had every base tool one could think of, with a full-sized oven and fridge/freezer combo, but it still managed to appear empty, with the countertops bare, save for a lump of tinfoil sitting near the sink on a few paper towels.

“So what exactly are we making, again?” He asked, voice a little strained.

“I think the actual name is ‘Easter Casserole’, or somethin’ like that, but I always called it Breakfast Casserole. ‘Cause that’s what it is: breakfast in the shape of a casserole.” Jefferson walked over the counter, reaching up to pull a cookbook from down off the top of the fridge and flipping the pages in search of the correct recipe. Alexander, on the other hand, found himself wondering if the top of the fridge was ever cleaned. Sally was an ezfi, and like himself, she would be too short to reach the top. Since it wasn’t as if their wings were built for hovering (although admittedly, that would be cool), she’d probably only think to clean there if prompted, and even then, she’d need a chair or something similar to get the duster up there.

“Here we go!” Jefferson exclaimed, motioning Alexander over. For once, the ezfi chose not to comment on the order, more wandering closer to satisfy his own personal curiosity than anything else. “I’ll get to cookin’ some sausage – that’s what’s thawing on the counter – and you can start on the crust, okay? We’ll just need to pull out some cooking spray, and then you just take the croissant dough and spread it out over the pan.”

“That doesn't sound very healthy,” Alexander finally chose to point out after a long silence. The human shrugged.

“Prolly’ not. But it’s simple and tastes good. ‘Sides, I don’t really know what foods you like, n’all that.”

Of all the little comments he’d made, that was the one that surprised Alexander the most. Jefferson had been pulling him around and snapping at him and overriding his positions all day, so what did it matter to the human if the ezfi liked what they were eating for dinner or not? Especially when that same human changed his order when they went out for lunch anyway. If you were hungry enough, you’d eat _anything_ you were offered. “Oh. Okay.” He washed his hands at the sink, noting the flowery scent from the soap.

Turning away from him, Jefferson stooped down to pull out a large, glass pan. “You’ll wanna hold this over the sink while you’re greasing it up.” Accepting the pan and a canister of spray, he stepped over to the kitchen table and made a show of spraying the glass away from the sink. As far as he could tell, he hadn’t gotten any spray on the table, and while Jefferson was clearly annoyed, the damage had already been done. At the very least, the human didn’t reprimand him, only slamming two cans of pre-made crescent roll dough down on the wood. “Just put the dough in the pan. Make sure it goes along the sides too, and not only the bottom.”

“Oh, yes, _sir,_ ” Alexander grumbled back, struggling to open the first can. Jefferson moved to open it for him, and Alexander yanked his hands away, smacking it onto the table and finally popping the cardboard seam. “Piss off and go make your sausage or whatever,” he preemptively snapped, face flushing red.

The human sighed _again_ , pulling out milk and a carton of eggs. “If you finish with the crust before I’m done with the sausage, you can get started on this. Otherwise, I’ll do it.”

Alexander picked at the card/board until he managed to pull the dough out, spreading the sheet along the bottom of the pan. The dough came in a fairly-rectangular shape as it was, making his task simple enough. The other can would go to the sides. The sink turned on for several seconds, the human washing his hands.

Behind him, he could hear small clanks and clatters as Jefferson set a pan on the stove and started on the sausage. Fingers kneading the dough, he tipped his head, rolling his eyes. For some reason, he wasn’t surprised that the human only bought organic skim milk. And his eggs… “That egg carton looks like a hippie advertisement. It’s got more buzzwords on it than it does actual eggs.” True to his words, the yellow styrofoam boasted how its eggs were organic, kosher, hormone-free, grade-A, washed, jumbo, white eggs. “Why would you even _waste your money_ on that? Just buy eggs from the farmer’s market. Or from your neighbors.” That’s what he always did. The little old (human) lady who lived next to him had a couple ducks, too.

Not that he’d ever see her again.

“Firstly, you gotta understand how _weird_ it is to have a conversation about eating eggs with an ezfi.” Alexander’s brow crinkled in confusion; ezfis didn’t lay even eggs, so the thought had never been weird to him. But he supposed for a human who _clearly_ never had any interaction with anyone other than similarly high-class humans, it could be a little odd. “Besides. The ones in a store are cleaner. Just how it is.”

“If you don’t wash them when they’re just going to be sitting around, they stay fresher,” Alexander shot back. “It’s not like you eat the _shell_.”

“Maybe not, but eating clean, nice eggs bought from the supermarket are just...it’s what people eat here! It’s how it’s done; you clearly don’t know that.”

“And you _clearly don’t know_ how things were done back where I’m from!” Alexander turned to face the human, feathers fluffed up.

“And now you’re here! Hey. I’m not saying that life in NYC is better. But it _totally_ is.” Jefferson stirred at his sausage, grease sizzling in the pan. “You don’t have to live in fear or poverty anymore, or battle against sickness and disease. You’re finally in a better place.”

Alexander _snapped_. Some people, when their anger boiled over, ran _hot_. They screamed, shouted, broke a wall. Alexander, on the other hand, _always_ ran hot; when he finally broke down, instead of finding violence taking root in his chest, he found himself going cold. Face down, eyes narrowed, he threateningly took a step closer to Jefferson. “You think this is any better than what I had? To know that everyone from back home thinks I’m dead? That I’ll never come back, and just disappeared without a trace?”

The human’s right eye twitched. “I doubt there was much to have left behind.”

Alexander’s wings smacked against the floor. “How can you know what I left behind?” He stepped closer, Jefferson looking between his pan and the ezfi. “For all you know, I was a step away from getting my college degree, losing sleep and stressing out because I didn’t want to fail. Or- or I was a loving boyfriend, working day in and day out to pay the medical bills of my disabled SON!” Not one of these statements were true, but for each one he said, there was no doubt in his mind that at least one kidnapped ezfi had been living this exact situation. Jefferson’s gaze wavered. “Or I was an only child taking care of an elderly parent. Maybe I was a dog owner kidnapped while I was walking home, to leave my new puppy whining and crying home alone. Or a single parent who stepped out to get the mail, leaving my infant daughter at home with no one to look out for her as she sobbed for her father!”

“Alex-”

“You have _no idea_ what life I lived. Yes, it sucked, but that doesn’t mean I can just drop everything and _leave_ my home! I shouldn’t be expected to grovel at your feet as repayment for the experience of being kidnapped!” His wings were partially spread, feathers fluffed, legs apart in a stable, fighting stance.

And his face was stone-cold as he slowly raised his gaze to meet Jefferson’s, walking right up to the human, standing only inches apart.

Without thinking, Jefferson’s eyes widened, his shoulders stooped as he seemed to shrink back, and he reactively flinched back, putting one arm to prop himself up against the stove.

 _Against the stove_. The burning-hot, glass-top, electric cooking range. Jefferson cried out, jumping and cradling his burnt hand to his chest.

Alexander froze, rocking on his feet, anger suddenly dissolved. That looked... _painful_. Almost hesitant, he reached forward, gently nudging the human aside. “I’ll finish making dinner. Can’t trust you not to hurt yourself more, and clearly you need the help.”

The human whined, running water from the sink over his injured hand, but didn’t object. The ezfi quirked his lips; he hadn’t meant to cause something like... _that_ to happen. “I don’t need your help, _Alexander_. Just...don’t let the damn sausage burn.” And with that, Jefferson walked right out of the room, leaving Alexander alone with his thoughts.

Alexander drained the grease from the pan into a little mug he’d found in one of the cabinets. He wasn’t about to pour it down the drain, and if anything, kind of hoped that said mug was Thomas’ favourite.

_Thomas?_

Yeah. He guessed it _was_ Thomas, not Jefferson. Because that was what the human had asked the ezfi to call him. Craning his neck to check the recipe, his eyes scanned over the directions before settling on “hashbrowns”. Alright, easy enough. He had to finish with the crust, but then it was just layering the hashbrowns and sausage to fill the pan. Not seeing any potatoes, on a whim he dug through the freezer, pulling out a sizeable bag of frozen hashbrowns.

And without thinking, he grabbed a knife from the block, ripping open the bag.

 _A knife_.

Footsteps. Thinking fast, he grabbed a paper towel and wrapped it around the edge of the blade before showing it into his waistband, carefully tucking his shirt overtop it. Seconds later, Jefferson – _Thomas_ – walked in, hand wrapped in gauze. Alexander cleared his throat, saying, “I’m going to, uh, start layering in a minute. I got the potatoes out of the freezer.”

Nodding, Thomas pulled out a bowl and cracked the eggs in, whisking at them with a fork. Opting to go for the easier route, Alexander carried the pan over to the stove, finishing up the crust and then beginning to layer the sausage and hashbrowns. Once he’d finished, Thomas poured the eggs over the casserole, and then some milk. “We’ll add the cheese after it’s been in the oven for a while,” the human explained. “Now, uh, you might want to take a step back, and I’ll put it in the oven.”

Alexander raised an eyebrow. “Your hand is probably still all screwed up from earlier. So, no, _I’m_ going to put it in the oven.” The human gave him an odd look, as if unsure whether Alexander was being sarcastic over the situation and his expectation of having to do all the work, or if he was genuinely wanting to help.

Quite frankly, the ezfi didn’t know himself.

The human stretched one arm up to set the timer on the microwave above the stovetop before turning back to Alexander. “Uh...thanks.” He made no comment on the mug of grease. “So...clothing now, if you want? I’ll just throw this stuff in the sink to wash later.” After a pause, Alexander nodded, and true to his word, the human swept the utensils into the sink and nodded for the two of them to sit down in the living room. Unsure how exactly to position himself on the relatively small couch (especially with how his wingbands made it difficult to fold his wings into their normal sitting positions), he eventually leaned against one end of the couch, draping his wings over the side. Thomas settled beside him, pulling up his knees and lightly lifting a thin, delicate tablet off of the coffee table. “This is a pretty good site to use, ‘cause you can enter your dimensions, and get everything custom-fit.”

Personally, he couldn’t help but think that needing custom-fit clothing was a little silly. Standardized sizing wasn’t great, but it worked, and it suited his needs. Still, if Thomas was going to get him anything he chose, he might as well get something nice to wear.

The tablet was shoved into his hands and he drummed his fingers at the glass, looking at the “popular” selections. He tilted his head slightly at one of the of the offered categories, the thumbnail a green tie-dye pattern with a light pink blossom blooming over the front. _Slightly_ hippie. He was starting to wonder just how separate Thomas kept his home life and work life, considering for all his odd hobbies, he seemed plenty composed in public.

The human grinned, pointing at the thumbnail. “Do you recognize that flower?”

“...No?”

“It’s from a flowering dogwood. The Virginia state tree, _and_ flower,” Thomas explained, settling back against the cushions. “It’s got this gray-brown bark that’s kind of...it’s like in small, scaly blocks. Like a persimmon.” Alexander didn’t know what a persimmon was, but wasn’t too interested in asking, and the human continued to ramble on about fruits and flowers and leaves.

It...confused him. Because dammit, he wanted to despite the shit out of Jefferson! Thomas had hurt him, albeit on accident.

And he’d hurt Thomas right back...albeit on accident. Beside him, he could see the way the human was careful to nurse his injury.

But most of all, this behavior was proving that Lafayette was _right_. Yes, Thomas was regretful, but Alexander had _agreed_ to help make dinner. He’d walked downstairs of his own accord. The ezfi was tired, and had given in enough to just do as the human asked. Then immediately, in return, Thomas was...softer, kinder. Clearly, the human had anger issues that manifested in disgust and an artificial inflation of importance – _fucking fantastic_.

The hilt of the knife dug into his side as he awkwardly shifted against the human. Thomas leaned closer, babbling on. “I think you can eat the dogwood berries? But I’ve never tried. I like the way they look, and I spent a lot of time gardening, but it’s more for the flowers and the knowledge that I’m growing something. Not for food. I-I’ve actually got a...a…” he trailed away, seemingly unable to speak, and Alexander frowned. If he liked gardening, city life didn’t exactly seem like best fit. “Uh, anyway, clothing. Here, you can scroll down the page to check out some general favorites, or a category, or narrow down your results over on the side.” To demonstrate, the human stretched one arm around Alexander, pulling him close in order to reach the screen and slide one finger over the glass.

The ezfi shivered at the contact, the human’s warmth sinking into him. If anything, it was a bit of an odd sensation; ezfis tended to be _warmer_ than humans were, and yet the touch was almost...comforting? He was sure it was a mere coincidence; a happenstance of how Thomas’ hand relaxed against him, fingers mindlessly playing with his hair.

He vaguely wondered if this was what being someone’s pet was like.

If it was, he _hated_ it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here comes the Lams. :)
> 
> Burr isn't sick; he's just making noises. John is the readiest to run and fight, but Lafayette is putting together battle plans. Thomas' hand will be fine; he flinched away as soon as he touched the stove, and put some burn spray on the burn before bandaging it. Alexander doesn't know what to think, and is torn between wanting to accept the sincerity of Thomas' actions, and denouncing all of it in the name of mental manipulation. The fact is that this is how their society is; it took Alexander laying out the situation for Thomas to start to realize that maybe he can't except his ezfi to just be happy and conforming.
> 
> The casserole they make is a real recipe! It's simpler than a lot of Easter Casseroles, but it's easy to make and tastes really good. I honestly have no idea where I initially got it from, considering the only copy of the recipe I have is scrawled on a piece of printer paper, but I make it fairly often and am happy to share it if anyone wants to try cooking it, haha. We make our own sausage, though, so the taste will probably be slightly different depending on what spices are in your meat.
> 
> This chapter took forever to write, although it's a little longer than usual to hopefully make up for that a bit!


	8. Inspection

Angelica did not consider herself loud-mouthed and hot-headed. She did not scream her troubles to the heavens, nor did she raise her fists in anger.

However, she was growing _very_ close to slapping someone’s head off of their shoulders.

She had been bought by a man named Levi Weeks on a Friday night. The past one-and-some days – it was Sunday morning, now – had been akin to living in Hell on Earth. Levi was not very rich, but he lived his life as though he were; he had no family to worry of, no obligations, and ran on loans and skirted paying his debts. It showed. He was dragging her around, buying off-brand, cheap clothing with frilly lace and terrible shape. He was trying to draw attention to her and make everyone know how comfortable and important he was.

What a crock of shit.

Weeks had this look about him only seen in men who were hiding some underlying plan. Just last night, she’d been thrown in a room to wait for his return as he pranced off with a woman on his arm, a dark look in his eyes. How long did she have until that look turned to her as well? Until she was forced to fight for her life, lest she be left bruised and bloody and subservient?

Lest she be left _dead?_

She’d had just about _enough_ of this. It had only been a few days since she was ripped away from her sisters and stood up before a crowd for auction, and she’d dealt with plenty enough already. Not to mention how worried she had been for them! Eliza and Peggy were strong and capable of taking care of themselves; she had no doubt in her mind about that, but who knew what had happened to them? No, they had to get out of this damn city ASAP. The longer they stayed, the more likely it was for them to be wrapped up in this mayhem even further. She’d have to find a way out, and then go for her sisters.

...And maybe Alexander, too, considering what the ezfi had done. Stood up for himself with power, showed concern for Eliza – her leg had been left bloody and torn from the humans that kidnapped them! – and he had caused so much damage that he was left beat up and gagged. If she could find where he had gone, surely he would be a step away from running away with her and her sisters!

They’d leave and _never_ come back. She didn’t know exactly where Alexander was from, but even if they couldn’t guarantee his return to his home, she’d make sure he had a place to stay so long as he was with them.

“Oi, didn’t you hear me?”

Slowly, she lifted her gaze upwards. She had been sitting on the floor of his grimy living room, junk tossed on every available surface, living space in desperate need of a clean. She had the feeling she’d be commanded to just do that tonight, carpet rough against her knees.

Levi’s nose wrinkled as he ordered, “ _Get. Another. Beer_. Lowest door shelf in the fridge. Hurry it up.” To punctuate his sentence, he snapped his fingers and glared down at her.

Standing up to her full height, he glared right back into his soul until he scoffed and turned his attention back to the outdated TV he was watching early-morning programming on. Already drinking this early in the day, huh? Throwing in an outraged flutter of her wings as she refolded them against her shoulders, one of many uncomfortable positions she could manage with the bands on, she stalked out of the room and into the kitchen. Her shoes stuck to the floor with each step over the sticky, yellowed linoleum.

The kitchen was in a similar state of disarray. Dishes were stacked on the counter, and every once and awhile, the loaded dishwasher would beep to remind anyone who might be listening that it had finished its wash cycle hours ago. The very presence of babylocks on the knife drawer seemed to insult and tease her; instead of clicking open like normal, they were all locked on a passcode.

She pulled open the fridge. There was a slightly _off_ smell to it, most of the shelf at eye-level being taken up by a nearly-empty pitcher of water. Picking some genetically-branded bottle that was most certainly _not_ where Weeks had instructed her, she sarcastically disregarded even looking for a bottle opener. With how much the man had already drank today, he probably kept one in his pocket. Either that, or he was the sort of person who ripped it off with his teeth.

Returning to the living room, she flatly announced her presence. “I got your damn beer.”

He snorted, a thick and oozing sound. “ _Good pet_. Now hand it over.” Not even bothering to turn around, he held out one hand, leaning back a little further in his recliner. The fake leather squeaked and crunched with his movements.

Her grip on the glass tightened, gaze boring into the back of his skull. Was this the sort of life she had been condemned to? To leave her family and be nothing more than the slave and footdog of a man who felt he was above her simply because he _lacked wings?_

No.

As if possessed, she raised the bottle high above her head...and then slammed it down with every ounce of strength she had.

* * *

 

Eliza curled further under the thick comforter. The air around her face was hot and difficult to breathe, but she only pulled the blanket tighter over her head. It was soft, flower patterns gently blooming over it, and yet it still seemed so mockingly syrup-sweet in light of her situation.

She had no idea what had happened to her sisters. They had been separated at the auction house, and even when she had been pulled aside into holding, they had been absent.

Angelica was resistive. Peggy was resilient. And Eliza wanted to imagine that she was just as capable as the others; she had always been a bit of a tomboy, always ready to jump into action and see the resolution. But her greatest weakness was her worrying, how fearful she was for her family. She couldn’t bear to know that someone was injured, just as she had been – a pinprick of pain shot through her, and she pulled her leg up closer to her stomach.

It had been late at night. They’d gone downtown of their local village, against their father’s wishes, just to look around for a short while. And, after most of the people had cleared out (it was far past the time most went to sleep), they’d been leisurely strolling down the sidewalk, planning to take flight once they got clear of the cramped buildings.

Their kidnappers had sprung out of the alleyway. When Eliza put up a fight, all she succeeded in doing was leaving her leg bloody from scraping it along the pavement, slamming it into her attacker…

She shifted the way she was laying, wings feeling trapped under the constricting weight of the blanket. Thus far, she’d been left alone. Occasionally, her owner – his name was Madison, if she was remembering right – would stop by and give her a meal. He was tiny, as small as ezfi; each time he walked in, he would ask if she needed anything, or wanted to come out. She always ignored him, and he would leave after a few minutes of one-sided chatter.

He hadn’t forced her to respond as of yet, or even leave the guest room. He had given her some clothes that he thought were about her size; they weren’t a perfect fit, but it was good to have the opportunity to change into a different outfit. While she was lucky enough to hail from a tiny town where owned ezfis simply weren’t a _thing_ – they were really only found in the largest cities – she was no stranger to the trade. She knew of ezfis being paraded about on...on diamond-studded leashes, and being dragged around to all sorts of stores that would do their hair and put them in humiliating party wear. And she wanted _no part_ of any of it, Madison’s “social standing” be _damned._

No, all she wanted right now was to leave.

She’d poked around her room in between mealtimes. It was sparsely filled; the flowers in the vase on the bureau wilted since Friday. The connected bathroom was the same way, with standard toiletries and feminine hygiene products. It was difficult to miss how Madison deliberately left her door unlocked, trying to encourage her to do something, _anything._ Probably was starting to assume he’d _bought_ a _defective ezfi_. Someone who was rightfully scared and hurting in their situation.

Everything was laid out before her, everyone waiting for her to make a move, but she felted trapped in a prison.

There was the sound of a door opening. Unable to pull herself further under the blankets, she covered herself with her wings. The bands prevented her from fully burying into her feathers like she wanted, but it was better than nothing. Footsteps crossed over to stand by her bed – it was a king size, giving her plenty of room to burrow under the pillows and sheets.

“Hey, hun, are you awake?”

A woman’s voice, unmistakably different from Madison’s. Up until now, she’d only seen the one human, so who…? In surprise, Eliza jumped up onto her elbows, wings pushing back the blankets away from her head. “What?” A woman was standing before her. She was taller than Eliza, and by extent probably Madison as well. She had black, curly hair and rosy cheeks, and gripped in her hands was a plate of breakfast food and a glass of water. “Who...who are you?” She couldn’t stop herself from asking, but she

“Do you mind if I sit down?” the woman asked. A little hesitant, Eliza nodded, and the woman settled herself on the edge of the bed, setting the plate down next to Eliza’s wings. Eliza didn’t touch it, almost worried that she’d be reprimanded. “I’m Dolley Madison. James’ wife.” She smiled. “You can go ahead and eat here, if you’d like. Don’t worry about getting it on the sheets!”

A little embarrassed, Eliza picked up the plate and balanced it on her knees. Dolley set the cup on the floor to keep it from spilling on the uneven surface. She took a bite. “T-thank you, for breakfast. It’s pretty good.”

“Thank _you_ for complimenting my cooking! Do you cook, yourself?” the woman asked, and Eliza leaned back slightly, a little overwhelmed with the sudden friendliness.

“I mean, I can…although I doubt Madison will let me do anything for fun,” she answered, a little bitter. “Seems like this whole industry is built on lies.”

Then, Dolley threw her head back and _laughed_. “Just call him James, hun. And if he gets mad at you over that, I’ll set my man straight! Now…” she winked. “Once you’re done eating, feel up to making some blueberry muffins with me? There’s a new recipe I’ve been _dying_ to try. And if you help me bake them, I’ll let you eat the first one out of the oven!”

Her laughter must have been contagious, because for the first time in several days, Eliza felt herself smiling along to someone else’s words. As far as she could tell, Dolley was closer in age to Eliza than to Madison; the woman appeared a few years younger than the ezfi. Between that, and her relaxed attitude, her confidence and poise, Eliza found herself nodding along and trying to finish her breakfast a little faster. After she’d shoveled it all in – eggs, sausage, a little biscuit – and chugged her water, she picked up her dishes and followed Dolley out of the room.

She needed to find her sisters. They needed to get out of here.

But maybe becoming Dolley’s friend would help her do just that.

* * *

 

Peggy was going to go insane.

Never before had she been afraid to leap into action. The core of her personality was her fearlessness, her ability to laugh off danger and push back in the face of it.

The problem was that here, she wasn’t in danger of anything except for _boredom._

Last Friday, she had been bought by a man named “John Adams.” She’d gotten his name from him during the uncomfortable car ride back to his house, and that was about it. He seemed to survive on microwave meals and cheap, slightly overcooked pastas, something that left Peggy hurking.

Slowly, tiredly, she lifted her head from the pillows of her bed. Several feet away, on a king-sized bed raised higher off of the ground than normal, her owner was spread out across the sheets. One elbow was propped up, wrist curved as he watched a soap opera on the tiny screen of his wristband. Said human was a fat, arrogant bastard; she was amazed he could even manage to hold his arm up for so long without calling her over there to do it for him.

In fact, really the only time he’d moved all weekend long was to push her into a clothing store and get her outfits suited away. Of course, she wasn’t given the opportunity to pick what _she_ wanted; he “graciously” chose a golden crop-top and loose pants for her, complete with a generous amount of chiffon and georgette. Just had to love the overuse of semi-transparent fabric for your clothes! To top it all off, it was even adorned with plastic, obviously-fake gemstones. Not that any of that deterred Adams; the man had seen it in the store window and made the decision that since it was nice enough to be displayed, it was nice enough for his ezfi. In her opinion, it was nothing more than an itchy and ridiculous hinderance.

Of all things, she hadn’t even been graced with a real bed. It was a converted window seat, made for her to curl up in, as if she were a dog instead of a person. Not even a dog, but a mangy mutt; at least she wasn’t being asked to sleep outside on a chain. The edges of the seat were covered in pillows of all size and shape; the bed itself was made out of some sort of thin, converted mattress. Surprising comfortable, but humiliating all the same.

If he wasn’t watching cringe worthy movies on his armband, he was drinking and talking with friends over an earpiece, body seeming to contort into the cushions. He had hardly spared a second glance at Peggy, let alone gotten up to take her anywhere, but was always making plans and cancelling them at the last second. He’d call up a “James Madison” and make dinner plans, then turn around and proclaim excuses. He’d have a nice conversation with a “Thomas Jefferson”, and hang up abruptly part of the way through. Supposedly they’d bought ezfis themselves, and had gone with Adams to the auction. Personally, if they were just as bad as Adams, she was _almost_ willing to trade being stuck in this damn doggy bed for the opportunity to never meet either of them.

Occasionally, the human would state aloud something that he needed. A glass of water, a pen, different socks. And each time, she’d begrudgingly stand and toss it onto the bed beside him.

At least there was one upside to all of this: if he was too lazy to move, surely he wouldn’t bother to get up for any... _suspicious_ noises.

Meaning that as soon as he was asleep, she was going to _run for it_.

* * *

 

Alexander set his now-empty bowl on the countertop. Thomas had waved off his questions about cleaning up himself or even using the dishwasher, so...okay? He might as well just set it down near the sink and hope for the best. The human had washed the dishes the previous night while Alexander was taking a shower, so he hadn’t had the opportunity to see what sort of methods Thomas used.

His breakfast was nothing to write home about – plain cheerios that made him internally weep for Thomas, who must have endured such a sad meal for years now.

Speak of the devil, and he shall appear. The human stepped into the room, buttoning up a white, ironed dress shirt. Alexander noticed a stain on one sleeve, and decided not to mention it.

Still, he was sure looking fancy this morning. No words escaped him, although the ezfi didn’t mind; the human had been oddly quiet since Alexander’s outburst last night and the following awkward clothing purchase. Alexander stretched, nearly smacking his wings against either wall of the kitchen before the bands snapped him away from spreading them to their full length. Behind him, he noticed the human jump, and felt the need to clarify. “Just stretching. Best I can, at least, considering my wings are tied with these damn _bands_.”

“I- uh, right. Still didn’t expect to see your wings unfolded partway like that.” Thomas rubbed at the back of his neck. “They’re really... _big_ up close. You look a lot smaller when they’re closed.”

“My wingspan is only, like, seventeen or eighteen feet. Somewhere in the ballpark of that. My wings aren’t _that_ huge.” He heard the human mutter something under his breath that sounded suspiciously like he was equating dick-measuring contests to wingspan. But, when he whirled around with a flustered face and a biting, “ _What was that?_ ” Thomas quickly changed his tune.

“I wanted to know if you could help me with my tie.” If he _could_. Could he? Of course. Unlike Thomas, he knew how to do up a damn tie!

“That’s exactly what you said,” Alexander hissed in reply, but walked over and stood up on his tiptoes to fix his tie. Curse humans for being, on average, a couple inches taller than ezfis. Curse this human _in particular_ for having the gall to be several inches over six feet. He fixed the way the human’s collar laid overtop the silky fabric, movements slowing as he realized the situation: his own slender fingers wrapped around the human’s pretty neck. Still so gentle, but wasn’t he forced to be? He was stretching and unbalanced; he couldn’t do any damage like this. Sighing, he secured the knot of Thomas’ tie a little tighter than it needed to be with a jerking movement that made the human grunt. “There. Why’re you even dressed up anyway? It’s Sunday.”

“Yeah…? Exactly. It’s Sunday. I’m going to church.”

Alexander pulled away slightly, fingertips still gently pressed to the human’s collarbone through his shirt. He was never one to be disrespectful of other religions; the woman who taught him how to read and write was Jewish, and had even taught him some basic Hebrew for the fun of it. His mother had raised him Christian, although seeing all the pain and horrors in the world had left him disillusioned to the presence of a god. “So...I’m guessing I’m gonna go to.” He was respectful of religions, yes, but he wasn’t exactly a practicing member of anything in particular. Translation: he wasn’t looking to be dragged to an early-morning church service.

“You can,” Thomas supplied. “But I won’t expect you to. I figured, chances are you aren’t interested in following me around. Probably a few old ladies that’ll give you some scathing glares if you come with me, honestly. So if you want to stay here, that’s fine.”

Scathing glares. That _almost_ sounded like a challenge, one that Alexander considered accepting. But, on the other hand, if Thomas was so open to leaving Alexander home alone…he shifted his weight between his feet, thinking, unsure.

Lafayette was right. The man really was desperate for trust. It had been...Christ, had it really only been three days!? It felt like it was so much longer than that… “Probably better if I stay, then.” Relaxing his shoulders, he stepped away, dropping the contact. Something behind Thomas’ expression changed, although it was impossible to pinpoint what. “Gonna lock me up again before you go so I don’t run away?”

“Um...no,” Thomas replied with an almost condescending edge to his voice. He cleared his throat. “How about this? You can have free range of anywhere in the apartment, as long as you can physically get to it. Don’t break anything while I’m out today, and we’ll see if that can extend to all times, instead of just sometimes.”

“You’re really just...you’re going to leave me alone?” It sounded almost pleading to ask, but he wanted to make sure. Was Thomas really doing this? They had been fighting just the other day, and while that initial burst of fear had worn off...well, he didn’t know what to think. The human might have noticed that tremble of vulnerability in his voice, but if he did, he didn’t comment on it.

“Of course not!” The ezfi jerked backwards at that, wings fluffing in surprise. Nevermind that. “I’ll probably be gone for a good hour and a half, two hours, and my brother wanted to have some more time to chat with you. I’ll text him to come over.” Brother. Lafayette was his brother; there was no other explanation. Thomas raised his wrist up to his face, checking the time on his armband. “But, uh...I’m about to head out the door. So if he can show up, it’ll be in half an hour or so, probably.”

“Oh. Okay.”

“Right.” The human rocked on his heels, taking a half-step towards Alexander – as if he were going to plant a farewell kiss onto the ezfi’s forehead – before stepping out of the kitchen without any contact whatsoever. Once Alexander had stepped out behind him, he reached overtop the ezfi’s head, earning a soft huff as his face was left leveled with the human’s tie. He could smell the faint lavender scent of the human’s cologne, and briefly wondered if he wasn’t really using women’s perfume. Thomas shut the sliding door behind him, one that cut off the kitchen from the rest of the house; Alexander had assumed it was decorated and the doorway was open, but clearly not; it was both artisan _and_ functional. If nothing else, he certainly wasn’t imagining that little _click_ that came with a locking door. Must not have wanted Alexander to get into the knives.

Involuntarily, his mind flashed back to the blade he’d swiped last night. It was currently hidden beneath his mattress; perhaps an obvious place to stash things, but it was better than leaving a weapon out in the open.

_Soon_. He’d get out of here and never look back. Well, no...he’d find the girls, get them out; he’d find the ezfi with bull’s-eye wings and thank him; he’d spit on Thomas’ shoes and then he’d be gone forever.

The human stepped away, snagging his coat, which had been draped over the back of the sofa. “Well...bye, Alex...ander. Alexander. Text me if you need anything.” He corrected himself after a brief hesitation, and the ezfi found his spirits lifting slightly at the fix. “Yeah. See ya later, darlin’.” The inclusion of the pet name once again dampened said spirits, but before he could contest that much, the human was out the door, locking it behind him.

Alexander was left alone. Completely and utterly alone. Just as a precaution, he tested his armband; sure enough, the screen flashed to life in the same manner that it had when Burr first activated it back in the processing facility. This time, it fully booted on, showing a list of apps.

Huh. He’d have to see what he could do with that, later on.

But that was for tonight, or maybe even tomorrow. Right now? He had the entire apartment (minus the kitchen and dining room) at his disposal, and he was going to do something with it.

Naturally, he started by heading upstairs into the master bedroom, planning to work his way outwards. He had at _best_ forty-five minutes to get a good look at everything in the apartment, swipe what he might need for later, and figure out the full layout. At worst, he had only fifteen minutes or so; it was more dependent on the distance between Lafayette’s apartment and Thomas’. An ezfi could just fly above the buildings and skip out on traffic and long walks, but Lafayette didn’t have such a luxury.

Thomas’ closet didn’t have anything interesting. There were a few suits, folded shirts, and a surprising lack of casual wear. No wonder he was so insistent that Alexander get fitted right away; Alexander must have looked _dull_ beside the human, and that just wouldn’t do. Behind a few outfits hanging up, Alexander noticed a stack of boxes; the top one he opened was mostly papers and a few other photos of that same woman. Not exactly useful for him. He was about to pack it back up when he noticed a book squished in on the edges of the box.

On a whim, he bent down and picked it up. “ _Optimal Owning: A Guide for New Ezfi Caretakers._ ”

He felt sick to his stomach looking at it, slowly parting the pages to read a few paragraphs. “Most ezfis have experience mild feelings of claustrophobia when kept in cramped, windowless rooms. This is especially heightened if they try to stretch or move and are hindered due to their large wings. While wing-bands are multi-purpose, one such purpose being to prevent them from fully spreading their wings, which can help alleviate fear associated with small spaces. Other helpful steps are to give them wide areas that they can easily escape to and keep them in windowed rooms with some form of airflow to simulate a less-compact environment.”

He grimaced. The book read as if he were an animalistic slave to instinct, and yet clearly Thomas took its words to heart, considering the sunroom had large windows. “However; this is not to say that they are prickly and withdrawn. Ezfis are very communal and often become very attached to their owner, especially if any attempts to better understand them are made. Because they are bought at a very vulnerable time in their lives, it is important to provide them comforts. While ezfis are uncomfortable in compact spaces built into rigid wall structures, they will often bury themselves under their bedsheets and against their pillows. If your ezfi is receptive to physical contact, providing a protecting anchor for them by allowing them to sleep nearby or spending time physically close can often help adjust them to their new homes. The best way to initiate this is through preening; ezfis spend hours caring for their wings, and consider preening each other an important bonding time. By preening your ezfi, you are showing them that you’re able to be trusted, while concurrently relaxing them and making them feel as though they are part of a family.”

What a steaming pile of horseshit. He was going to happily refuse to believe that any of this was true (even if he was, personally, a sucker for physical affection). It was one thing if friends or family preened him or touched his wings. If it involved Jefferson, he was throwing it out the window. Forcibly defenestrate the human out of the premises. Angrily, he tossed the book back into its resting place, shut the lid, adjusted the hangars back to approximately their original position, and walked out of the closet.

The master bathroom was similar. Unlike the bathroom Alexander was using, it had a double sink and an additional cabinet, but outside of that, it was nearly identical. He saw that one was unused, and internally chuckled. That was a real shocker. With the hair Thomas had, it was amazing the bathroom was as clean and neat as it was. He hoped Sally was being paid well.

He slipped out into the hallway. There was the bathroom directly set on the wall to the right, another door across the hall and slightly offset. Electing to visit that one last, he turned to the next door down the hallway to his left.

The door stuck a bit as he struggled to open it, finally pushing it open. The room inside was clean, albeit...empty. There was an extra bed inside, and a thin closet, but nothing much outside of that. Still, it was spacious, and Alexander cautiously stepped inside.

It was as unpersonalized as the sunroom was, but Alexander still felt a pang of annoyance stab through him. Thomas had a full guest bedroom and still stuck the ezfi in a tiny offshoot of the master suit. The words of the book drifted back to his mind, those claims of keeping ezfis in nearby, windowed rooms drifting into his thoughts. Stupid book. He would have rather at least had a real room for himself.

Slipping out, he checked the thin door to the right. Just a linen closet. Nevermind then.

That left the other side of the hallway.

Sharing a continued railing with the stairs was almost a den-type area. It took up approximately half of the wallspace, creating a tiny inlet with a window, sofa and chair, and coffee table. Somewhere to relax in without heading downstairs into the main living room. He checked under the chairs and the lower shelf of the table for forgotten objects, but like everything else, it seemed so...unused, unlived in, clean. Thomas must live alone, but it was if even _he_ was never in his own apartment.

All he had left now was the final door itself, the one that was slightly offset from the master bedroom’s door. Cracking his knuckles, he walked over and turned the knob, expecting it to swing open like the others.

Yeah, nope. This door wasn’t budging. Huffing under his breath, he slammed his weight into it, the heavy door seemingly filled with metal – and, to his relief, it finally swung open just enough for him to slip out of before it shut behind him.

What he saw made him freeze in his tracks. Light, _blinding_ sunlight shining into his eyes. He was _outside!_ Breath seemingly stolen away, he rushed forward to the edge of the outside area, looking down. A thin, wire fence separated him from the long, long plummet downwards.

His hair tousled in its ponytail from the breeze, his heart _soaring_ even where his wings could not. The air wasn’t perfectly fresh; he was in a city, after all. But he could  see _everything_ from here. Buildings, ezfis and humans alike walking about, and even...were those the beginnings of a central park between the gaps of buildings?

Was there a fire escape here? A way down from here that didn’t involve him flying? Steps beating loud against the concrete, he rushed along the edge of the small space, looking for stairs or a ladder. _Nothing_. The building must have been newer, built without one. Or maybe if there was one, it was on the other side, away from the roof.

The roof. He blinked, his gaze finally widening to include the rest of the area. It was slightly larger than the master bedroom, the flooring concrete or a similar material. Clearly, it was a private rooftop access space, set at the same level as the rest of the floor but cut away from the inside. The wire fence was probably to discourage thieving ezfis from dropping down onto the roof and heading in, with how difficult it was to leave; the heavy door likely had something to do with that as well. A secondary purpose was just safety, wanting to stop anyone from falling off the roof should they trip.

From what he could tell...it was a garden. There were four large, outdoor plant boxes that sat low to the ground and were filled with dirt. Curiously, he stooped down at poked a finger into the soil; it was bone-dry. Each a foot apart, wooden stakes stuck up from the boxes; they were all half-rotted and falling over with the weight of the plants climbing up through them and the netting strung between the poles. Alexander knew hardly anything about gardening, but based on the appearance of the vine-like plants, they must have been abandoned for months. They crunched and turned to dust underneath his touch; each stem and leaf was brown and wrinkled. They had clearly been tended to at some point, but then totally abandoned, left to die off alone.

“What is this?” He wondered aloud. Thomas had mentioned he enjoyed caring for plants, but this…this wasn’t anything like that.

“It’s her garden,” Lafayette supplied.

Alexander leaped up out of his crouch, heart racing. He hadn’t heard the door opening, and in his shock, his wings hit a few more stakes out of their places in the boxes. “Wh-what?” Would the human tell Thomas he had been out here? When had Lafayette even shown up!?

Lafayette looked to his right, a small pile of gardening tools left abandoned beside a metal trash can. The human reached out a hand, running a single finger over the lid and withdrawing to inspect it. “Hm. I suppose such a place can’t gain much dust...it is outside, where it rains, after all.” He raised his gaze higher, examining the garden with an expression of long-lost remembrance. “Martha always did love this place. It is a shame my brother let it go like this...”

“Who’s Martha?” The woman from the photos buried in Thomas’ closet? In the picture frame on his desk? He couldn’t imagine Thomas was married; he’d have noticed if they were sharing a bed. Still, Lafayette ignored his questions, waving it all away.

And, despite Lafayette’s fingertip presumably having come away clean, he wiped it off on his shirt before heaving the metal door open once more. “Let’s head inside, Alexander. I’d love to chat with you more today before Thomas is back from his morning excursions.”

Mind swimming with confused thoughts, the new possibilities, the misunderstandings, he followed Lafayette inside.

He might as well hear what the man had to say.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And so we see what the ladies are up to! I thought it might be a bit of fun irony if Angelica was paired with Levi Weeks...As for Eliza and Peggy, I wanted them to be owned by some of Thomas' friends. All the girls have different approaches to their situations, and their situations and response to them reflect that.
> 
> As for Alexander...Thomas isn't suddenly dropping his previous treatment, but he is a little withdrawn due to their argument the other night and he's reevaluating the situation. Alexander doesn't know what to think regarding that, and Lafayette's cryptic statements make the situation even more confusing.
> 
> Thomas doesn't really believe in God (and he's not a close follower of Christianity), but he does go to church a few times a month. I suppose he could use the moral lessons preached, even if he's not buying the stories of miracles. Alexander is a firm believer in the idea that if no angels or whatever came to save him or his family as a child, then there's no reason to trust a "God", especially if the best justification he's gotten for it is that he, for simply existing, deserved it. He's still pretty chill with the people who do follow whatever religion.


	9. Consideration

When the door shut behind him, the world seemed a little darker, the sunlight abruptly cut away with a sense of finality and unyielding weight. Alexander blinked, trying to adjust his sight away from the yellow mid-morning sunshine, and stared down at the floor through thick eyelashes. The floor was clean, almost untread upon. Did a _person_ actually live here?

He felt more trapped than ever, even now that he had the most freedom -- as he was a moment away from leaping out into the sky, but the door had shut hard behind him, and his wings were snapped in place. He could do nothing. Gilbert hadn’t forced him inside, but hadn’t left their actions open to much discussion, and he couldn’t help but chew nervously on his cheek.

Lafayette took a seat in the upper living area, the small den that Alexander had poked around in before the human showed. He leaned back with an air about him that steadily said he had steeled himself for their interaction, shirt perfectly pressed, floofy hair drawn tight, and face smooth. Seeming to ponder his first words, he tapped his fingertips on the edge of his chair, nails leaving a light _click, click, click_ reverberating about the room. “Did you enjoy your second night?”

Not in the slightest. From the quick shower that left him feeling grimier than when he started to waking up in a strange place to eating plain cheerios, there was nothing good about it, especially when factoring in the uncomfortable clothing selection. “It sucked,” Alexander flatly answered. “Also, we ate this casserole that was _seriously_ unhealthy. I’m genuinely thinking that Thomas is going to keel over from his diet alone. He balances it out somewhat with nuts and cheerios in the morning? Although that just might be because he wants to feed me birdseed.” Thomas seemed...disconnected, in a sense. It was almost as though the man was never really willing to _be there_ , waiting for something else that had already passed by.

In response, he received a thoughtful hum. “That was an interesting answer…I did not see you as being the ‘health nut’, as you say. Or truly that kind of answer at all.”

“So this was a test,” the ezfi noted, leaning back against the wall beside the human. Stupid, stupid, everything was a test when he examined it close enough. “Look, Hercules pointed me to you because he thought there was something that I could offer, and something that I could get in return. You said that if I could get you and I alone together, you would come clean. So? I’m listening.” That was the only reason he was even giving Lafayette the time of day.

Well, not exactly...he hated himself for admitting it, but he also didn’t mind Laf’s presence that much. The guy had an air to him that inspired Alex’s mind to start ticking over, like he knew a secret and wanted to share. Maybe he was just projecting onto the first guy to show him a little decency. After all, his current experiences had amounted to being herded like cattle, sold off at an auction, and quite frankly be beaten down. The person who not only treated him as if he were intelligent but openly lobbied for him to be treated as such was infinitely more valuable than most other options.

A thoughtful sigh, the Frenchman unsure as to how he should proceed. Finally, he nodded, fixing his shirt. “I will ask you a question, and you will respond truthfully. You will ask me a question, and I will respond truthfully. We will continue for however long we have. Does that...suffice? It is good?” When Alexander gave him a slow, hesitant nod, he continued, that twinkle in his eyes from before returning. “Perfect. You are quite observant, I must say. The first: tell me about where you come from. Your life, really.”

“That’s broad. And not a question,” Alexander pointed out, tapping his foot on the carpet impatiently. Lafayette adjusted how he sat, draping over the arm of the chair a bit more comfortably, a lazy smile working its way over his face.

“That is true.”

When he offered no further explanation, the ezfi sighed, moving to sit down on the narrow sofa. After a moment’s consideration, he laid back, feeling almost ridiculously as though he were at a therapist’s office. His wings twitched beneath him and he arched his back to keep the pressure off of his joints. “West Indies. I mentioned during that lunch outing that I worked at an import-export firm...that ‘bout sums it up. Was taken in by a human family when I was a kid and raised with ‘em. Got a place of my own a couple months ago, one-room, had a bed and a trunk and a little peppermint plant for tea ‘n shit like that.” Behind half-lidded eyes, he saw that tiny place he had called home. It wasn’t incredible, and he didn’t make enough to call it much more than what it was. But it was, for the first time in his life, something that was _all his_. Sunshine streaming through the windows, sticky, humid air surrounding him. Swatting away bugs and sweeping out dust, waving to his neighbors in the morning before flying to work. Exchanging letters with his brother, physical ones, on paper, because he couldn’t afford the fancy devices all the tourists had. Owning more books than changes of clothes, those same books that his mother would let him borrow as a child to read and teach himself.

“I see. How-”

Alexander jerked out of his stupor, sharply butting in. “You asked a question so it’s my turn, now. Who is 'we'? How many of you are there, and _who_ are you?” Those soft visions of faded pages and sweet scents dripped away.

“I believe that makes three questions, Alexander,” Lafayette chuckled softly. “But I’ll treat it as one alone.” The human sat up straighter in his chair, crossing his legs. “We are...me, you met John, Washington. Others, many others, who believe that it is unfair to steal innocents away from the lives they once led, even if they were only one-room homes with a bed and a trunk and a petite plante, and ask that they become laborers, or researchers, or _slaves_ without a second thought. Given a falsity of freedom, but never able to leave. That is not too much to ask, non, to fix this? And so here we are. A group of people with, let us say...quite a bit of influence in this home. Not enough, never enough, but we try our hardest. And you are in a position of power, like it or not, because you have the authority to act under the extension of my older brother. You could be an asset for us.” Vague. Appearing pleased with himself, Lafayette raised an eyebrow. “Now, a question for me. How did you get those bruises and cuts?”

Alexander lifted a hand to the scabbing-over mark on his cheek. He was probing the man for information, while the other seemed to be trying to get to know him better. Some kind of ulterior motive, perhaps, but he found himself relaxing all the same. Lafayette sounded…sincere. Like he actually wanted to simply gain Alexander’s trust and figure a little more out about him. “I...tried to fight. It wasn’t Jeffershit, if that’s what you’re wondering.” _Thomas. Call him Thomas._

“That was not the question. It is not a question of who, only how.”

The ezfi shifted. “...Cut on my face is because I tried to dive-bomb someone pulling a girl into a van. She flew away and they slammed me against the door, got me with a knife. And then...” he inhaled deep before continuing, skipping a few chapters of his own story, “well, the bruises are just from cuffs and rope. And my wings are messed up from the bands. I think one of the sockets was screwed up, but Thomas said he had someone check me over, and I don’t even have bandages, so…?”

“Yes, modern technology is quite the marvelous thing. Self-driving cars, instantaneous communications, and these,” he finished, motioning to the ezfi’s armband. Alexander couldn’t help but notice that Gilbert wasn’t wearing one at all. “Healthcare advances all the time. If nothing else, you should not worry for your wing. I would not fly now, but you will heal. Anything outside of losing a wing itself can be helped. Now, I only have one more question for you, so choose wisely on what you ask me, as we’re running low on time. While it may go against Thomas’ wishes, I will not stay here for the duration of his outing -- I am in fact very busy on this day, and cannot stay. Although what you do afterwards is not my concern.”

Alexander turned on his side, thinking. If the next was Lafayette’s last question, then he only had two more chances himself. “...How do I disable the bands on my wings? Or the tracker on my wrist?” If all else failed, he wanted -- needed -- a backup plan.

“You don’t, I’m afraid.”

“Fine, then-”

“One last question, my dear,” Lafayette held up a single finger, hushing the ezfi. “Although it is not quite a question, rather a request.” Oh boy. A _request_ , or a thinly disguised command? Turning his gaze away to hide his expression, he motioned for the human to continue. “I know you are intelligent, and are capable. But I ask that you not hurt Thomas. We will be sure that you are freed someday. And much sooner, you will be placed into contact with one of our informants. Try to find a way to speak with him often. But do not run, and do not do anything rash. Not to my brother. He is not with us, but he is not _against_ us. He is a neutral party that would never give us up, but also won’t push for our assistance.”

Gritting his teeth, Alexander nodded. What a bitter, bitter lie the ezfi was telling himself.

Alex’s final question came out as, “Tell me about your brother.” Just as Gilbert’s last question had been, Alexander’s was a request, but with no room for argument.

“He was raised by our father here in the States, and moved up north here to take over our father’s business after his passing. He is a...his ideals are family and friend-oriented. He wants a family, to have love and to settle down, and he is close to his friends and those in a similar position as he. Hence why he may schedule a lunch offhandedly, as even while the other attendees are powerful men...as his position in the technology industry has led him into public service all the same.”

“Okay,” Alexander replied, and as his single word softened in the silence of the room, the human stood.

“Good chat, as you say, mon ami. I will speak with you soon.” The human took a few steps, making it over to the stairwell before pausing. “I’m sorry that you’ve been caught in this. I hope that I may fulfill my end of our promise. Maybe you’ll return to that little home of yours someday.”

When the sound of footsteps had receded, Alexander let out a slow breath he didn’t know he had been holding. Memories flashed before his eyes -- planting that little mint sprout and being so excited when it thrived. Pouring over maps, speaking to the traders he worked with and hearing about all the places they came from that he would never go to. Counting his savings to see if maybe, just maybe, he would have a chance of making it elsewhere. Not just on another island country, but moving to America and maybe ending up with more prospects than “stuck as a trader”.

Sighing, he rose to his feet, and without any further look around, he walked himself back into the sunroom and sat down to preen his wings. They looked enough like shit as it was.

* * *

 

When Thomas’ heavy steps returned, he elected not to look up from his position -- one leg up in the air, twisted over on his stomach, one wing folded nearly backwards in hopes he could reach those last few hard-to-get feathers with the wing-bands restricting his movement -- and rather continue his self-care. He wasn’t even truly sure _when_ it registered he was no longer alone, only feeling his cheeks heat up in embarrassment as he saw the human watching him in a rather...not compromising, but _personal_ position. It was like someone intently staring while he was shaving; it wasn’t as though he were doing anything wrong, it was simply a generally lone activity and wasn’t something you let any rando on the street do.

“What are you even doing?” Thomas asked, voice with less of a bite and more of...gentle curiosity. He had a shopping bag tucked behind his back, and had loosened his tie and fluffed out his curly locks, hair gently fallen around his face.

Face going red, Alexander stared up at the human. “Preening. As disgusting as you clearly believe I am, I do take care of my feathers. Otherwise they’ll get all brittle, and icky. All ezfis do it, although of course, you wouldn’t know this, because you’ve got your head stuck up your ass at all times of day.” His tone teetered like a see-saw, not quite as biting as normal -- he was reluctant to see how far he could push Thomas, and Lafayette’s words continued to bounce around behind his eyes. Not only that, but he was currently halfway to being upside-down, and if nothing else, he was basically stuck in a yoga position in front of the one man who he did not care to perform for.

Mouth tightening into a frown, Thomas simply pulled out a small container from his bag and set it on the desk with a _thump_. “I brought you a deli sandwich and fruit punch if you want it. If not, starve, whatever. Just thought since yesterday you wanted juice, and I told you to get water…just thought that you might like this. I swear it’s not the shitty powdered kind, it’s got actual fruit juice in it and everything.” When he got no answer in reply, he groaned and held his head in his hands in frustration. “Okay. Enjoy your lunch. Please tell me if you’re allergic to anything before I accidentally kill you.” A pause. “And...thank you. For not going around smashing things all the lightbulbs, or trying to break a window. I guess...well, it’s good to see you acting normal instead of raging about things.”

“Death would be a preferable end to this hell,” Alexander mumbled under his breath, pushing himself up and swinging his legs back under himself so that he was no longer in such a strange position. Ignoring the human’s other comment was entirely intentional, but he was unsure if it went unnoticed. The bed bucked under his movements and he swayed to steady himself, wings shuddering to return some balance to his position. When he looked up once more, the human was staring down at him, shifting on his feet in discomfort and annoyance.

“What?” he snapped.

“I’m _trying_ to make this better for you…” Thomas replied, and his curled his fingers into his sleeves, eyes narrowed and tight around the edges in disapproval. “I’m glad this morning went smoothly, but you’re still so angry. You should be happy that I’m trying to bring all these things, and-”

_You should just be happy you’re not chained to a wall._ Alexander tilted his head back to get a good look at the man -- with soft lips, hair framing his features, shoulders sloped… “I don’t _have_ to be anything. I’m not an actual, physical, _crow_. You don’t gain my favor with- with…” his face was heating up in angry humiliation, flashing back to their session in the fitting room with Hercules. “With lace and shiny garments. Or with fruit juice. Maybe I’ll be happier if you stop taking guide books seriously and actually treat me like an independent, autonomous being.”

Thomas was turned away, something Alexander was thankful for as it let him hide his face. “I just don’t want your life to be misery here,” the human sighed, sitting down beside the ezfi and running a hand through his curly hair. Alexander only watched, a pang of guilt hitting his chest as he saw bandages wrapped around the hand Thomas had burned yesterday. “I’m not going to try and break you, thinking that’ll get me what I want. Because I’m not a fucking monster who’s going to beat their ezfi into submission!” Thomas snapped. “I’m trying to give you more freedom, and provide for your basic needs, and make this as little of a crazy power-imbalanced situation as possible. You seem to like Lafayette; hell, even Washington didn’t piss you off so much, I don’t understand--”

Mouth twitching, Alexander reached forward to grab Thomas’ collar, yanking the human down to eye level. “I’m being kept a prisoner, talked down to, and you’re trying to buy my affection with shitty fruit punch. Having some time alone in the house was nice, but while I didn’t _mind_ Lafayette coming over as in one person _visiting_ , you had your brother stop by as a...a guard, a fucking _warden_ . You had him walk me to and from the goddamn _restroom_  the other day. I- where exactly do you think I’m gonna run to!? I can’t fly, you can track my location, and I…I feel like an animal.” He clamped a hand over his mouth, shoulders quaking, and dropped his grip on the other’s shirt. He still had that knife, and the thought weighed heavy on his mind. It was underneath his mattress right now.

Lafayette had promised he not hurt Thomas. If he did, and things went south, there was a non-zero chance that he would lose all hope of really making it out somewhere. Still, he had the knife, he had a _knife,_ whether to attack or for defense, he could pry open a window, or, or-

The situation was hopeless. He wasn’t a monster; even with his humanity (how ironic) stripped away, he was still a person who might fight back and punch and run, but wasn’t a _murderer_ , couldn’t just do something like _that_ without a second thought. The weight of what he was doing, where he was, the hopelessness all smashed into him at once and he was sobbing into his hands. He wasn’t a child, but he was scared, and wanted out.

This time, Thomas seemed to have learned to give him space. The human didn’t try to move closer, or rub his back, or pull him in for a hug, and he honest-to-god appreciated that. Instead, the human just lent his _presence_ , and the discomfort of the looming silence pushed Alexander to babble more, and he realized that the reality of the situation had finally hit him.

Thomas was staring, and when their eyes met, the human quickly looked away.

The ezfi sucked in a breath, fingers fluttering through his hair, heart thumping out of his chest from anxiety. “I always wanted to escape my home and move to a big city. But here, I’m an animal in a pen -- _God_ , you’re forcing me to dress up in lacy outfits that are -- they’re _humiliating_ to wear, you regulate the amount of time I can spend _showering_ \-- I can’t do this! I just can’t. It’s been three days, and I don’t even feel like a _person_ anymore.” He hunched his wings up, trying to create a barrier between him and Thomas, trying to hide. Some part of him wanted to ask if that was exactly what Jefferson wanted -- for him to feel mindless, helpless, irrelevant. That _was_ the idea, wasn’t it? He was to be pretty and quiet, stand around until his assistance was necessitated-

“Alexander?”

“ _What?”_ he hissed, growling under his breath.

“What do you like to do for fun?”

What _did_ he like to do for fun? Why did it matter? He was in the middle of a mental breakdown in front of one of the _leading causes_ of said breakdown, and here he was, being asked what his hobbies were?

The ezf reeled back as if struck. “What? W-why…”

Thomas rose to his feet, pulling off his tie and stuffing it into his shirt pocket. “What did you do back home in your free time? You play soccer, or, or...uh, maybe you can play an instrument? Like, I play violin. I’ll show you sometime if you’re interested.”

“Can’t play,” he mumbled in answer. He had never had the spending money to buy an instrument to learn on, and didn’t think he could ever learn at this point, whether out of a lack of ability or a lack of interest. Sure, he’d kicked around cheap toys and shit like that, but that was as a kid. “I-I...what?” He couldn’t seem to grasp the question.

“I’m serious. You’ve got to have _something_ you do as a hobby.”

He squeezed his eyes shut, tight, and tried to summon up the anger that had been possessing him moments before, but it came out as annoyed babbles amongst hiccuping sobs. “Jefferson, listen to me. I’m a young, workaholic adult. I know finances and math. I d-don’t...I don’t really play kickball in the street these days, when everyone else I know is...is off to college or into their careers. Fuck, I have... _had_...a career. And I lost all of it.” A vision of his home fluttered in front of his eyes once more. The trunk, the squeaky bed, and tears were rolling down his skin anew. “I...I even had just gotten a little place of my own...never had much of a green thumb, but I wanted to try my hand at gardening...I had a little mint plant growing…”

Silence. Thomas was thinking to himself, it seemed, as he licked his lips, eyes swimming far away in thought. Finally, he rose to his feet, nodding. “Enjoy your lunch.” No further attempts at comfort or discretion.

Whatever reaction Alexander had been expecting, it wasn’t that. Sighing, yet with no one to hear it, he finally gave in to his grumbling stomach, pushed away the last flush of his face, and went over to eat. And as far as Alexander was concerned, he wasn’t sad at all that their one even slightly two-sided conversation had evaporated into a puff of steam in an instant and dispersed just as a quick.

He just couldn’t seem to stop lying to himself today.

* * *

 

Alexander had figured out how to work the tablet in his desk and had browsed through the small selection of apps available. He’d settled on reading a book in Thomas’ library that had been synced to his device, some old classic that took his mind off the current situation. As it was, he couldn’t help but reread the same page over and over again, words blurring and bouncing around in his skull.

It was still early afternoon, sky blue and free of clouds. Setting his -- no, it isn’t his, not really -- tablet down on the desk beside him, he spun around in the chair to get a better look outside. While he has feathered wings and hollow bones, he doesn’t have raptor vision, yet he’s sure he can see a gray-white feather drift by on the breeze outside. It’s small enough that it could be from a pigeon, or maybe the tiny feathers by the base of an ezfi’s wings.

Revering in the quiet moment, he leaned against his hand, staring longingly out the window.

The door opened. Reluctantly, he turned to look over his shoulder just in time to see Thomas nervously rapping his fingers against the doorframe. “Uh, am I good to come in?”

“You didn’t even knock until _after_ you were in the room. If you want to catch me jackin’ off or some shit, then congrats, that’s a great way to do it,” he mumbled, turning to look back out the window. Maybe he could pick up cloud gazing as a hobby. If nothing else, when he’s staring at the sky, he can almost believe he’s laying back on the sand, surrounded by nosy tourists. But then again, back home, ezfis were blue and green (excepting him and his brother…), and here, they were every hue and shade, not to mention every pattern. The little speckles on his feathers were hardly noticeable, while here you could have everything from stripes to bull’s-eyes.

Thomas walked over to stand at the edge of his vision -- not wanting to obstruct the ezfi’s view, but wanting to be acknowledged. Alexander put his head down on his arms instead, ignoring how he could see a slight blush on the human’s face from his earlier comment.

Then, there was the small _smack_ of paper packets hitting wood, and Alexander jumped, feathers poofing up. He stared down at the desk, trying to comprehend what Thomas had just dropped in front of him. He managed to narrow down his sights to the two objects presently dropped before him -- one, a small paper with a username and password key alongside a list of text, and two, a packet with the words “container herb garden seeds” on the front. Slowly, not quite sure what that all was for, he turned to raise an eyebrow.

“Alexander, do you want to try and compromise again?”

“What’s your plan this time?” he grumbled sarcastically. “I slave away for you, and get a piece of paper in return?”

Thomas shook his head, curls bobbing around his head, and Alexander was surprised to see that he was less forceful and angry right now, but rather light and...genuine. He even seemed a little nervous. “Hear me out. Obviously this...uh, okay. Listen. This whole ‘you be a normal owned ezfi, and I’ll feed you’ clearly isn’t working out. So. I was thinking. I’m going to make you an offer.” He motioned to the items on the desk. “Look. I need an assistant. That’s what you’re here for.”

Alexander could _taste_ the undertone of ‘ _that’s why I bought you.’_ Still, he tipped his head slightly to the side -- he was listening. Spurred on by finally getting a non-negative reaction, the human continued. “You said gardening is something you like, right? Well, maybe a mint plant isn’t much, but it’s a start. And...I used to spend a _lot_ of time gardening. So my proposal: you, not as a pet, but as an assistant. Your login credentials are right there on the paper. You do actual work, like a normal employee. In payment, you’ll be able to live here like normal, and you’ll have free range of the house, and all that. That is, maybe pick up a few hobbies, if you want. You just happened to mention _one_ that I already had the materials for.” Thomas craned his neck to look at the tablet. “And if you’re into that sort of book, I’ll get you more. But...you get the idea.”

Alexander was dumbstruck. He hadn’t expected a change of heart anytime soon, and in confusion, he knitted his brow and shook his head, tugging at a few loose strands of hair. Thomas wanted to try and start over. Alexander would be like a live-in assistant instead of a pet. “So you’ll take off my wingbands then? Because I’m like an employee, not your personal slave.” He remembered Thomas explaining how an owned ezfi was supposed to work, setting up appointments, standing in their owner’s place and upholding their owner’s ideals when necessary. But _alongside_ that, they were quiet, beautiful, objects. Was the human really going to just...sacrifice that second part?

“Um...let’s not get ahead of ourselves. You’re still...look, I...I’ve known you for three days and this isn’t an optimal situation, you’re gonna have to forgive me for being hesitant. But, just...I’m not asking for you to want to be here, but I at least want you to like me, or if not that, have a professional relationship. If you spend your days looking to screw me over, then you’ll be miserable, and so will I.” He had a point there. “I _want_ this to work out, a really do, and honestly the reason it took me so long to get back here to the apartment was because Lafayette was yelling at me over the phone about how poorly you and I got along. So your ‘pay’ starts with books and gardening privileges and, um, maybe eventually it’ll be some time to fly and...all of that.”

So he was still a prisoner. Alexander took a deep breath, trying to put together a few more coherent thoughts. With this, he could...try and make a place here. There was a chance that he wasn’t going to be paraded around on a leash and locked in a sunroom. So long as he didn’t do anything dumb, maybe eventually... “Gardening privileges…” he scoffed, picking up the packet. He could see tiny plastic baggies holding specks of different varieties of seeds. “You got a plant pot or…” Or, the garden. The one outside. _Outside_.

“I have a few grow boxes set up...er, you’ll see, whenever you want to plant them. That is, if we have a deal.” He winked. He fucking _winked_. “Terms and conditions are on the paper, if you want to read them. It’s not a proper contract, though. Just wanted to give you an idea of what I was thinking about.”

“Like a deal with the devil,” Alexander replied, squinting down at the little listed items below his username and password. For what, exactly, he wasn’t sure, but it was a login to _something_ . The list was straightforward -- but it really was what Jefferson had explained. There would still be some situations where Alexander would have to follow Thomas around and keep his head down, but the _lace_ percentage had decreased _somewhat_. In fact, most of the mind-numbing “stand around, or maybe carry papers or fetch things on cue” was practically nullified. He was still a prisoner, yes -- but a whole new avenue had been opened for him. And yet, he still opened his mouth, still spoke those fateful, idiotic words. “The first book you buy me better be a dumbass’ guide to gardening, ‘cause I don’t think my little mint plant is anything to go off of. I bought it as a seedling at the store.”

* * *

 

Alexander didn’t know what to think of his current situation. Thomas refused to go out onto the garden deck -- the man hadn’t mentioned the fact that it was Martha’s garden, and the ezfi had decided not to push the question, lest the human ask how he found out in the first place. However, the human had allowed _Alexander_ reasonable access to it. After all, the fencing was a reasonable deterrent from allowing the ezfi escape, and where would he go anyway? Walk along the roof? Between the bands and the tracker, Alexander was stuck -- he wasn’t going to try and jump; he was a guy who clung to life.

He reached up to wipe sweat from his brow. It wasn’t that he was working hard -- he hadn’t even tried to clean up the deck, really just try and plant his little herbs -- it was simply...warm outside. He was thinking about attempting to con the human into buying some peppermint seedlings; however, at the moment he had basil seeds tipped into his palm, and was pressing the last of them into the soil.

He needed this. He really, really did. Time to himself, just putting little seeds into soil. He wasn’t a gardener, had a brown thumb for the most part, and wasn’t sure how much water or shade basil even needed. He sighed, leaning back on his heels, kneeling down on the concrete.

They had worked out the “conditions” of their arrangement for the most part. So long as Alexander didn’t do something astronomically stupid, like trying to run, he wouldn’t lose privileges. Said privileges being: he could walk without a hand on his wings, he could actually shower in peace, he could choose his appearance (within reason), and he could try to find a hobby or two.

Alexander wasn’t sure how he felt about this new compromise. It was a big jump from “you give a lot, I give a little.” The human explained that he wasn’t _quite_ sure what job Alex would have yet, but if the ezfi was as skilled as he claimed, then he’d find something. It was all just...so confusing. He hated the bigoted man, but between their interaction the night before and the aforementioned “Lafayette screaming at him over the phone,” something must have convinced Thomas to reconsider. Something like how, above all else, Alexander hadn’t destroyed the man’s apartment just to spite him. Sounded like the bar for decency was low these days. He knew that Thomas wanted them to work together; maybe he had just been hit with a reality check.

A heavy _thump_ , and he jumped, clutching the empty basil baggie tight in his hand. Behind him -- he turned, seeing gray-white feathers and a red bull’s-eye, outlined in the sun, casting a dark shadow over Alexander’s features.

John sat down on the roof’s ledge above him, legs swinging over the side as the freckled ezfi smiled down. “Hey, pretty bird~!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have nothing to say for myself. Sorry y'all.

**Author's Note:**

> [Check out this tag on my Tumblr](https://beeshavethrees.tumblr.com/tagged/Hamilton-Clipped-AU) for more information on the AU, artwork, one-shots (which can also be read in the next work in this series!), and various other things. Feel free to ask about the AU or make requests, both here and on Tumblr!
> 
> [Here's the official Clipped AU Askblog!](ask-hamilton-clipped-au.tumblr.com) Feel free to ask away!
> 
> Comments make me happy. I like to talk and respond. :)


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